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WE SAVED THE OLD FARM, 



f 



HOW IT BECAME A NEW FARM. 



BY 



'A YOUNG FARMER" 



/^^N OF '-y/Ve^ 



Corner of Bromfield and Washingtoii Sta. 
BOSTON. 






Copyright, 1879, 
A. K. LO 



RING.X 



VKKBB or 
ROCKWELL & ClIUBOHILL. 

3'i Arch Street, Button, 



HOW WE SAVED 

THE OLD FARM. 



CHAPTER I. 

"Now, Helen," said my uncle, as he leaned back in the 
great rocking-chair, and carelessl^^ jingled the ponderous seal 
upon his massive gold chain with his left hand, "I have been 
thinking this matter over ever since I heard of poor William's 
death, and I have made up mj'^ mind just what is the best 
thing for j'ou to do. You might sell the wood off, and sell 
the stock and tools, and in that way pay the mortgage ; and 
then you could live a few j'ears by selling the hay, with what 
these bojs could earn, but the farm would be growing poorer 
and would not sell for so much as it would sell for now, and 
my advice would be to make a clean sale of everything now, 
and pay off the debts, and get a little place in Blackington, 
where the boj's could go to work in the factory ; and upon 
what they earned, and upon what 3'ou would have, you could 
live quite comfortable. And if 3'ou felt able to take a few 
boarders, with Alice to help you., you might make a good 
thing in that way, I dare say." 

And Uncle Robert, who was a prosperous merchant in the 
distant city of Woodville, and an influential man there, 
looked as if the business was all settled to his satisfaction, 
and nothing more remained but to carry out his plans. I, 



4 HOW WE SA\TED TIIE OLD FARM. 

the before-mentioned Alice, a girl of thirteen, who had a keen 
dread of leaving our old home, which I loved so dearl}-, but 
with too much awe of my energetic, loud-talking uncle and 
his gold seal, which I had always looked upon as if it were a 
badge of authority, to venture any remonstrance, glanced 
anxiousl}' at the other members of our famil}' circle to see 
how they received it. Mother, in her newly put on widow's 
weeds, looked as if the very thought was an additional dis- 
tress to her, and 3'et as if she knew not which wa}' to turn or 
what to do. She had always been used to having my father 
decide upon all matters of business, and although, like most 
New England farmers' wives, she had always been ready to 
"have her say" upon all matters, yet she would have been 
astonished if she had thought that anything depended entirely 
upon her will, and would not have known what her will really 
w-^^ I could see that she did not want to leave the old farm, 
but I knew any real opposition to the plan must come from 
some one else who could offer a better plan. 

Ned, my playmate, my brother, scarcely a j-ear older than 
myself, was already exclaiming against going into the factory 
village ; but it was to Clarence, a bo}^ of sixteen, one of 
those rare ones who seldom spoke until he had well consid- 
ered what he had to say, and who usually ended by having 
things his own way, because he felt sure that way was right, 
and he never gave up although ho :nade no violent opposition 
to other people, it was to him that I looked next as the one 
who would decide the question. He said nothing, but the 
contraction of his brow, and the lips which were firmly closed, 
as was his habit when he was thinking intently, gave me an 
indefinite sort of encouragement that he had some other plan, 
which he would bring forward when he had fully considered 
it. 

" I don't know what is best," at last answered my mother, 
sighing heavil}', " and I have no doubt you are right ; but I 
do not like the idea of giving up the old place, where I have 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 5 

lived with William for eighteen 3"ears, and where the children 
■n-ere born, and which has been in the farail}' so long ; I must 
have time to thinlv it over and to make up my mind to it, if it 
must be." 

I could see Clarence's face light up, as if the time to think 
it over was just what he wanted, but my uncle impatiently 
exclaimed : — 

" What is the use of thinking it over? Can't 3'ou see that 
it is just what must be, if you think it over for a year? And 
the longer you wait, the worse for 3'ou. Now I am here, I 
can give 3'ou my advice about what to do and how to do it, 
and I might see some one in Blackington to-morrow, as I go 
baciv, who would look out for a place for j'ou there bj- stop- 
ping over a train, though I ought to get back to Woodville 
as quickly as possible. But I cannot ver}' well come down 
again this winter it is so far and such a cold ride, and I miist 
be very busy now looking out for the spring trade, which I 
hope will be better than it has been for a year past. If it is 
not I cannot tell how I may come out, for it is a hard time 
for me to get monc}' to meet my bills." 

I was ungenerous enough to look upon that as a hint which 
was calculated to put a stop beforehand to any appeals to 
him for aid, but I maj' have been wrong. It was the hard 
wanter of 1857, when many business men felt as despondent 
as Uncle Robert. At an}' rate it was not needed, for my 
mother would not have thought of making such application 
even to him, her only brother, unless we had been suffering 
for the necessaries of life. 

" Well," said my mother, "I cannot decide it to-night. I 
am too tired to think now, and I must think of it and talk it 
over with the children, and perhaps with Mr. Grey, before I 
do anything." 

"Much these children know about such things, and a 
farmer who never was out of the county will nol know much 
more, I suppose : but you can have 3-our own way," said 



6 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 

Uncle Robert, indignanth', and in a tone that said as plainly 
as words that we should get no more advice from him unless 
we asked for it. And then the conversation drifted upon in- 
different subjects, while Ned pouted, with the tears occasionly 
starting from his e^-es as he thought of leaving our dearl}' loved 
home. And I, instead of going to him for sympath}^ as I would 
have done if we had been in trouble of a more trivial nature, 
crept close to Clarence and put my hand in his, feeling as if I 
relied upon his stronger will for strength to resist against 
being further bereaved. 

We had that da}" followed to the tomb the mortal remains 
of our father, who had been taken from us suddenly. Only 
a few days before he had left us well and strong as usual, 
and gone to the Corners with a load of wood, and before 
night the minister of our little church had come in and gentl}' 
broken to us the news that he had been found dead upon the 
road, having apparently fallen beneath the wheels of the 
wagon in such a wa}^ that the wheels had passed over his 
neck and broken it instantly. What caused the fall none 
knew. 

Our father had been taken from us, and now to tr}' to take 
away our home and put us down in Blackington, a village 
where I had been a few times with my father, as it was only 
eight miles from us, where I seemed to see my brothers 
growing to look like the boj's I had seen coming to and going 
from the factory ; with faces black as they came from work 
or pale and peaked after they had washed the black off ; with 
pipes in their mouths, or still worse, with tobacco juice stain- 
ing clothing, uttering oaths and coarse jokes, regardless of 
those who were in hearing ; even a vision of mysef, like a 
girl of about my own age that I had once seen there, quar- 
reling and actual!}' swearing at some one who might perhaps 
have been her mother, who was calling her to come home. No, 
no, it was too dreadful. I think if I had been offered a choice 
to go there or go to the poor-house, where good-hearted, 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 7 

thougli rough, Uncle Tom Hardy ruled over and cared for 
the half-dozen aged and infirm, and poor crippled Sally Jones 
and her two quiet children, I should have hailed the poor- 
house with joy. I knew it well, and it was not so awful ; — 
but Blackington seemed full of unknown dangers. 

And now let me tell you something of ourselves, that 3'ou 
may know into what society 3'ou have been so unceremoni- 
ously introduced. My grandfather, on m^- father's side, was 
descended from one of the early settlers of Brookfield, where 
we resided. It was a quiet countrj^ place, a half-dozen miles 
from any railroad. No village had been formed in Brook- 
field, or nearer than Blackington, eight miles away, though 
at Brookfield Four Corners, some two miles from us, was the 
blacksmith shop, the old stage tavern, and the grocery, which 
was also the post-office. At the tavern was also a public 
hall, where an occasional lecture, dance, or show of some 
sort sometimes appeared to break the monotony of our quiet 
existence. Elsewhere through the town the houses were 
scattered at irregular intervals along the road, mostl}' stand- 
ing a little back from the road, with old orchards around 
them, and barns near by where cows lowed and pigs grunted 
or squealed at feeding time. The people within a mile either 
wa3^were neighbors, and the farmers borrowed and loaned 
tools and carriages and teams, and exchanged spare-ribs of 
pork and legs of beef at killing time, and changed works in 
planting or hoeing or haA'ing time, without often figuring up 
to see just how the account stood until death took one of the 
parties and so balanced the account. And the farmers' wives 
and mothers tripped back and forward, with shawls or aprons 
over their heads, in the twilight to gossip, and compare calico, 
and borrow drawings of tea and cups of sugar or molasses 
of one another, to be conscientiously repaid when their hus- 
bands should get time to go to the Corners again. 

Here my grandfather — Thomas Re^-nolds — had owned a 
large tract of land, from which he had given my Uncle 



8 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

Thomas, his oldest son, the land which was now his farm upon 
which he lived, just north of ours. For the next son, Uncle 
James, he had sold some outlying lots and some of the cattle 
and raised five hundred dollars, which James had taken as his 
portion and departed for the West. He had first settled in 
Western New York, then moved to Ohio, and, when last heard 
from, had sold out there and was going to the newl}' discov- 
ered land of gold — to California. No tidings had come for 
many years, and we had long thought of him among those 
who had perished upon the plains in the endeavor to reach 
the gold regions, or had succumbed to the hai'dships of the 
mines. 

Aunt Matilda, the only daughter, had married James Gre}', 
the son of old Squire Grey of the neighboring town, who was 
now a squire himself, and a well-to-do farmer, with better 
barns and better fields than any in Brookfield, and good 
stock of improved breeds and patent tools of all sorts, which 
he was perpetually praising as being so superior to those 
possessed by his humble neighbors that they " would paj' their 
cost in one j'ear, sir," as he confidently asserted. However, 
as he kept no strict account of profit or loss, and had interest 
and rent coming in, people received his praises of improved 
farming with a little mental reservation, and said " it wa's all 
very well for the squire to do so, but poor farmers must go 
more carefull}', and make less if it must be less." And while 
the squire, as became a man of propert}', was a man of great 
influence in town matters, and esteemed as shrewd in advising 
other people in matters of business not connected with farm- 
ing, 3'et he could not persuade the farmers to mount an}' one 
of his hobbies. He was generous and liberal to a fault toward 
all with whom he came in contact if business was not at- 
tempted, but he was sharp in trade and a most exacting 
creditor. It was to pa}' off the marriage portion of five hun- 
dred dollars, which my grandfather had promised Aunt Ma- 
tilda, that father had placed that mortgage upon the farm ; 



HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FAKM. 9 

borrowing the money of the squire to pay his wife, wlien 
grandfather gave him the deed of the old homestead. When 
father had brought home to the old house the pretty Helen 
Talbot, the school-teacher in our district one term, and pre- 
sented her to his father as his wife, then grandfather resigned 
control of the farm and gave my father the deed of it, upon 
condition of a support while he lived, and the payment of the 
before-mentioned sum to Aunt Matilda when he died. And 
here father had lived and managed the farm very much, I 
fancy, as his father had done before him, saving not much 
while the children were small, especially while grandfather 
lived, and then at his death came the mortgage, of which the 
squire had rigorously demanded the interest every year ; and 
if father had any money left one 3'ear, after paying interest 
and taxes, the next j-ear he perhaps had to sell a cow or a 
hog to square up. And so, at his death, we had the farm, 
the stock and tools, and the mortgage as our inheritance. 

The winter before the one on which my story opens, father 
and Clarence had cut the wood off the north lot, and had 
sold it to a man at the Corners, and it was nearlj' the last 
load which father had carried upon that last day of his life, 
so that we felt sure of having money enough there to pay all 
funeral expenses and live upon for a short time, for our wants 
were not many. We had beef and pork in the cellar, and 
potatoes and pumpkins, and in the crib there was a good sup- 
ply of corn and rye, and ha}- and corn-stover in the bai*n for 
the cattle, and the cows would give us plenty of milk and 
butter, and the sale of butter and eggs would suppl}' us with 
groceries, for a while at least. So, when in the morning 
Uncle Robert, as he hurried to get awaj^ for the morning 
stage from the Corners, ventured to repeat a little of the 
advice which he had urged so persistently the night before, 
m}' mother could afford to repl}' : " No need of hurr^'ing 
about it, Robert, we can stay here awhile longer yet, I trust, 
and we may see a better way yet." 



10 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

And when he had gone, mother and I went about our work 
of clearing up and putting away, and our domestic duties, 
stopping, now and then, for a quiet cry together, as some 
article came to hand which too strongly brought to mind the 
great loss we had met. And the bojs went to the barn and 
the woodpile, where we could see from the window that they 
were in earnest conversation about something much of the 
time, Clarence doing the most of the talking, I thought, 
which was contrary to the usual custom when the}^ were 
together. I say we could see, but I doubt if my mother no- 
ticed it ; but I did, and wondered what it meant. At noon 
and at sui)per I looked for something from Clarence upon 
the question of going to Blackington, but he was about as 
usual, only, as I thought, a shade more quiet. He seemed to 
have a load of care upon his mind which was not there 
before, while Ned, though quiet, seemed to have become 
more manly all at once. It was not until evening came 
again, and we had gathered once more in the little sitting- 
room, with mother knitting (an occupation which she had 
not tried since the shock came upon her ; but which she 
would have gone to the evening before if it had not been for 
the restraint of Uncle Robert's presence. It was the un- 
wonted idleness of her fingers which had made her so at a 
loss that night, I thought) and me with my book, that the 
third plan was unfolded. 

— ^^•Co. 

CHAPTER II. 

We had sat but a few minutes when Clarence gravely 
changed his seat from the chair where he had been sitting, 
into the arm-chair by the stove, which had alwaj'S been 
called " father's chair," either as if thus asserting his posi- 
tion as the head of the family, or perhaps from an idea tliat 
what he was about to say would have more weight if advanced 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 11 

from that position, and when my mother glanced at him as if 
in surprise, he looked full at her and asked, " Have j'ou 
thought much to-day about what Uncle Robert said, and of 
his two plans for us ?" 

" Not much, my son, and I do not feel ready to decide 3'et. 
We can live as we are for a while, and when I can, I will go 
over and talk with 3'our Aunt Matilda and the squire about 
it. Robert is a smart man in the city, and in his own bus- 
iness, but he has not judgment for us down here upon a farm, 
I am afraid, and I cannot bear to think of leaving the old 
farm, unless there is no other way for us to do." 

" But I think I can see another wa}-, mother, besides either 
of Uncle Robert's plans, and I have thought it carefully over, 
and 710W 1 want,3'ou to think of it and see if it is not better 
than the others ; it will enable us to stay here together upon 
the old place." 

"How?" 

"Do you know that I am sixteen years old, and Ned is 
over fourteen, and we know how to do almost all kinds of 
farm-work, and I can do as much as a man at most work ; 
and r think we can run the farm so as to make a living for 
ourselves." 

" And I am willing to work just as hard as ever I can," 
saj's Ned, " and I will help milk and do chores and drive 
team, and shovel and hoe, and help take care of hay, and 
dig potatoes, and cut wood, or do anything, if j-ou onl}- will 
sa}^ that you will not go to Blackington. Just think of 
those boys we used to see when I Avent there with father, beg- 
ging for apples, as if they were half-starved, and swearing if 
father wouldn't give them any ; and if he did, they came 
back again, lying, and saying that they had not had any. I 
knew them even when" they had swapped hats and coats 
before they came back. You wouldn't want me to look like 
them, would you, mother?" 

" No, Ned ; I should not expect you to look or act like 



12 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

them, even if we moved there, but I cannot say about you 
and Clarence managing the farm. You are only bo3-s, and I 
am afraid 3'ou could not do work enough to make a living on 
the farm. It would be quite an undertaking." 

" But, mother," said Clarence, again in his moderate wa}', 
" I have thought it all over and I know just what lots father 
meant to plant next j'ear, and I know how to do the work, 
and I shall not plant quite as much, so that there will not be 
so much to take care of, but I will put on manure heavy 
where I do plant, and see if I can't raise as much on a little 
field as we used to on big ones. I heard Squire Grey tell 
father one day that he ought to do so. And, then, I remem- 
ber what I have read in the old "Farmers," and "Plough- 
mans," and " Cultivators " that I have borrojved, and I think 
I can manage it so it will pay." 

" But that mortgage will be a drag on us all the time, and 
you never can make a living for us and pa}' that ; only you 
two boys." 

" Well, we can pay the interest on it as has always been 
done, and the squire will not want an3'thing more than that 
until we get older and can make more. And you can make 
the butter, and Alice can take care of the hens and chickens, 
we will sell butter and eggs and chickens, and I will raise 
calves and pigs and lots of other things on the farm to sell, 
and I know we can get money enough to live on, and pa^' the 
interest besides. What do you think of the plan, mother? " 

" I am afraid \'ou and Ned do not realize how hard j'ou 
must work ; and what will you do if you have a job that j'ou 
do not know how to do, or that is too heavy for 3'Ou, or if 
any of the cattle are sick?" 

" If I do not know just how to do, I will ask some of the 
farmers in the neighborhood, if I cannot find out b}' reading 
my papers ; and if I have a hard job I will get Jake Wood 
to help me. He knows how to do everything after some 



now WE SAVED TILE OLD FABM. 13 

fashion or other, and we could get him for a few days at any 
time, you know." 

" ' Talk of angelsand j'ou may hear their wings,' " saidmy 
mother ; "I believe I hear Jake's wings now." 

And, surely enough, we could hear a lumbering tread 
coming up the foot-path to the backdoor, which certainly 
sounded like the foot-falls of the individual mentioned, though 
there was not much resemblance to the usual idea of angels' 
wings ; but as I never heard angels' wings, I cannot tell. 
And while he is coming in, let me introduce him to 3-our 
acquaintance. Jake is one of those harmless individuals 
who have never settled down to anj^ steady occupation. 
There is perhaps a taint of the blood of some Indian ances- 
tor in his veins ; such is the usual opinion of the country 
people about him, and it is borne out as much by his habits 
as by his long, straight, black hair, dark complexion, and 
prominent cheek bones. He lives alone in a little cottage 
near the edge of the great swamp, and has done so since his 
mother died, many years ago. Alone, I say, excepting a 
hound, which is liis constant companion indoors and out. He 
is a famous hunter, trapper, and fisherman, and by his earn- 
ings in that way, and the products of a little garden near his 
cottage, and, with the proceeds of berry-picking in the sum- 
mer, he is independent, and under no obligations to work for 
any other man ; yet he can be got to work a few days when 
any neighboring farmer is hard pushed ; but it will be only a 
few days before the roving spirit will seize him, and he must 
be off. Some favorite spots of bei'ries have ripened and must 
be picked, and Jake knows many such places almost inacces- 
sible to any one else ; or he gets to hankering for rabbit or 
partridge, meat or fish, and off he goes. I have heard that 
he once worked for Bill Varnum over a week, when Bill was 
sick, and no one else would woi'k for him because they 
thought Bill was poor pay. At any rate, there is no surer 
way to get Jake's help than to tell him that j'ou had been 



14 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

everywhere else and could not get any one to help 3'ou. But 
it is time to let him speak for himself, which he will not be 
backward about doing, now he is in the room, with his hat 
under his chair, his dog Rover beside him, and his game-bag 
in his lap. Jake would resent an}^ attempt to take his hat 
and hang it up as an insult, and I am not sure but Rover 
would also resent it. The game-bag is not empt}', and I feel 
sure that he means to leave its contents here. I am plan- 
ning alread}' with what I will refill it, for such exchanges- are 
not uncommon with us. 

" Good-evening, ma'am, and young folks," said Jake, as he 
took the chair which I put by the stove for him ; " thought I 
must come in and see you a few minutes, bein* as I was 
comin' this way. Should have brought my wife along, too, 
only the babj' is having the hoopin' cough and she couldn't 
leave it and daresn't bring it." This, by the way, is a favor- 
ite joke of Jake's, and seldom fails to win a smile from the 
3' ounger portion of his audience. The idea of Jake having a 
wife and baby. 

"I am sure, Jacob," said m}' mother, smiling faintlj'', "I 
should be glad to see your wife, if she could come with 
you." 

" Well, ma'am, you just wait till a sartian little gal gets a 
half-dozen years older, and you may see stranger things than 
that," said he, with a significant glance at me. " If she 
only learns to eat partridge-meat and chestnuts, which is all 
we have down at our house, she may grow up so as to suit 
me. Just 5'ou look in this. Miss Alice, and see if j'ou can't 
find some better place for what is in here than in Jake's 
game-bag." 

And I, knowing Jake's way too well to feel an}' oflfence at 
his remarks, or the way in which he profilers his well-meant 
gift, take it to the pantry, to find a plump pair of partridges, 
and the rest of the bag filled with chestnuts, as he had indi- 
cated, and I called mother to consult about the propriety of 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 15 

filling it with apples and a generous strip of pork ; and when 
I had done so I came back to hear Jake saying : — 

" Most distressing circumstances, ma'am, and happening 
so sudden like. But, as the preacher said, ' In the midst of 
life we are in death,' and we don't know whose turn may 
come next. And now, I suppose, j'ou will be bi'eaking up 
and selling out. I declare it always makes me feel almost 
as bad as a funeral to see a man's little sticks and tools that 
he has worked to get together, just such as suit him, and 
that he has got used to, and the critters that he has taken 
care of till he likes them, faults and all, sold off at auction, 
and going East and West and North and South, 'mongst 
folks that don't think nothing of them only that they got 
them for so many cents. I reckon sometimes 'twould be 
better to do as the Injuns did. The^' had their bows and 
arrows and tools buried with 'em, and the horse killed on the 
grave, too, thej^ say. I know about the arrows and tools, 
anj'way, 'cause I've found them in the graves. But, to be 
sure, what a hole it would take to put in Squire Grey's 
tools, now ! " 

" But," interposed Clarence, who felt as we all did, that 
Jake's jesting was a little ill-timed, "we are thinking of 
trying to get along without selling. I have been telling 
mother that Ned and I can run the farm so as to make a 
living off of it, and if there is anything we don't know how 
to do, or are not able to do, we must look to 3'ou to help us 
out. You would, I know, wouldn't you, Jake ? " 

" Stand up and let me look at you, boy," said Jake, 
gravel}'. He did so, and we all looked. Not a very tall lad 
of his age, but broad-shouldered and well-made, with an 
earnest look upon his face that showed that he would not be 
hindered in carrying out his plan by trifles. "Why, 3^ou 
was only a boy when I helped 3'our father cut the bog meadow 
last fall, and now 30U look like a man. You'll do. How is 
Ned? can you help about this job, bo}-?" 



16 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FAEM. 

"I am willing to do almost anything rather than to leave 
the old farm and see things sold off, and I can do lots of 
work when I have a mind to." 

" Well said, Ned. I reckon 3-011 are the right grit, and if 
anything old Jake can do will help 3'er, j'ou need not be 
afraid to name it. I could run over for a day or two almost 
any time, and I know how to do lots of odd jobs that will 
come handy to j'ou chaps, I expect." 

"I am sure, Jacob," said m}' mother, who, I fancied, did 
not quite like rushing so hastil^"^ to a conclusion of such an 
important matter, and perhaps thought Jake not the best 
adviser that could be chosen, " the bo^'s ought to be thankful 
for your very kind offer, and I am also ; but we have not yet 
decided upon it, and I must think it over and talk to Squire 
Grey about it before I agree to it ; and until then I should 
prefer not to have an3'thing said about it among the neigh- 
bors, so I hope 3'ou will not speak of it, Jacob." 

"Well, ma'am," said Jake, "I alwa3S calculated that a 
man had two ears, and two eyes, and onl3^ one tongue, 
because the Almight3' meant that he should not tell more 
than half what he saw, and half what he heard, and my 
tongue hasn't worn m3' teeth out 3-et. Guess the3' can stand 
guard over it awhile longer, an3'way, and if I want to talk 
ver3' bad about other folks' business, I just take Rover into 
the house where we are all alone, and I talk to him, and he 
never tells an3'bod3' of it. But I must be getting home 
again, or the wife will pull m3' hair when I do get there. 
And I allow that the job is as good as settled if 3'Ou are 
going to talk to Squire Grey about it, for he has got a head, 
the squire has ; and he can see as far into a millstone as the 
man that picks it, and he knows the stock there is in these 
lads. 

" I guess. Miss Alice, 3-ou and mother didn't lighten the 
game-bag much while you had it in the closet there, but I 
shall see when I get home. Come, Rover," and Jake reached 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 17 

for his hat, swung the strap of the bag over his neck, and 
was backing out of the door before we could make an^^ reply 
to his remarks, and the hearty " Good-night, ma'am ; take 
care of yourself for me, Alice ! Good luck to 3" ou, bo^'s ; 
Jake will help j'ou all he can, every time," which he delivered 
as he got into the doorway, just ready to close it after him, 
might have been considered as his farewell shot. 

There were a few moments' silence after he went out, until 
we heard the last echo of his shrill whistle going toward his 
solitar}' home, and then Clarence began again : — 

" And will you, mother, actually go over and talk to the 
squire about it?" 

" Yes, I think I will, for I should be very glad to try 3-our 
plan if I can see any hopes of 3'our succeeding in it ; but I 
feel very doubtful about it, and 3'ou must have a stronger 
advocate, and a better promise of help, if you need it, than 
Jake." 

" Now, mother, 3'ou know Jake is not laz3% for he is a 
first-rate hand to work when 3'ou can get him, and he is not 
to blame if he wants to hunt or fish part of the time, espec- 
ially if, as some folks sa3', he makes more at it than he does 
at work for the farmers. And his promise is always good, 
for he alwa3's comes to work if he sa3's he will. But may we 
all go to Aunt Matilda's with 3'Ou ? I shall want to talk to 
the squire, and Ned and Sis will like a day there, and we 
can do the chores and go over there to-morrow morning, and 
get back at night earl3' enough to feed and milk." 

To this, mother gave a reluctant consent, I thought, but I 
thought she also was desirous of having a decision reached 
upon this important question, and indeed it was quite time, 
for it was now late in Januar3', and if she should decide to 
sell, the earl3' spring would be the best time, while if she 
adopted Clarence's plan, the sooner it was decided upon the 
sooner we should feel as if we were settled, for since Uncle 
Robert's words I had felt ver3' much as if we were living 



18 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

upon sufferance, liable to be turned out at any minute, and so, 
I thought, had mother. But nothing more was said of the 
plan that evening, although Ned and Clarence had some talk 
about the fine stalk at the squire's, and Ned and I laid our 
plans for the day, knowing that our big brother would be apt 
to be closeted a part of the day with the old folks, of whom 
he had so suddenly become a part, or would become a part 
if he was promoted to farm manager. We had not been to 
the squire's for a long time, nor had we seen him or Aunt 
Matilda, excepting at the funeral, when the etiquette of 
Brookfield would not have allowed anj'thing but the inter- 
change of the common salutations between those who were 
known as mourners, even if our feelings had led us to desire 
it. 

In some sections of New England it is customary for the 
family to provide a hearty repast, of which all the rela 
tives, friends, and assistants at the ceremonies must partake 
after the return from the burying-ground. But this custom 
was as yet unknown in Brookfield, and the people there 
would have as soon thought of finishing the funeral ceremo- 
nies with dancing as with feasting. Those who came so far 
that they could not return the same day, as Uncle Robert 
had done, were hospitably received and entertained until 
thc}^ could return home ; but those who lived within a reason- 
able distance for walliing or riding, were expected to return 
home directly after the services. 



CHAPTER III. 

The next morning the boys were up in good time, and after 
starting the fire and filling the tea-kettle, were off to the barn, 
where they finished all the morning chores before breakfixst, 
and were ready directl}- afterward to give the cattle hay 
enough to last them till night, and harness up the old horse 



HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 19 

into the covered wagon, ready for a start as soon as mother 
and I could clear away the breakfast dishes and get ourselves 
read}'. Luckily, although it was midwinter, it was not very 
cold, and the ground was nearly bare of snow ; so the ride of 
five miles did not promise to be a very unpleasant one, nor a 
long one, although old Charley wa^ more famous for his per- 
formance at the plough and the team-wagon than upon the 
road. On, past many small farms, where their owners strug- 
gled manfully to wrest a living from rocky soils or sandy 
hills ; with tools fifty years behind the times ; with cattle 
that were worth scarcely more in the spring than the hay 
that they ate during the winter would have sold for in the 
fall ; with teams that would scarcely draw their own pro- 
vender for a day's journey ; by larger farms, where the 
owners derived larger incomes from the sale of wood and 
timber and charcoal ; through woods where the ring of the 
axe could be heard ; by the very place where my father had 
met his death ; by the Corners where a horse and a yoke 
of oxen were waiting for the new shoes that the black- 
smith was hammering upon, thi'owing bright sparks out of 
doors even as we rode by — up hill and down hill, we rode 
on. 

Let me tell you more about the place we are going to visit 
and the people we shall see there, rather than of our ride ; 
for you can find such drives anywhere in New England, but 
not such people as the squire and Aunt Matilda very often, 
nor such farms as theirs, I fear. The place was a large 
farm, with a comfortable brick-house standing a little back 
from the street, and hidden from passers by when in direct 
front view, or very near, by a thick grove of evergreens, 
elms, maples, larches, and other trees that I knew not 
by name then. They were planted out, as I have since 
learned, by one who was skilled in forest trees, so that the 
trees stood at irregular distances and apparently in disorder, 
as they would have grown in the woods from Nature's 



20 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

planting ; and yet it was art of the most artistic sort which 
had dictated the spot for every one. Not a tree grew there, 
even the white-birch which showed its chalky trunk and pale 
green leaves among more pretentious trees, but had had its 
effect upon the surrounding trees, and upon the whole land- 
scape, carefully calculated by a master-mind before it was 
placed where it stood. And 3'et the man who had done this 
was said to have been a half-witted sort of a chap, who was 
good for nothing else ; but he had studied the woods, and 
could place these trees and calculate their effect in masses as 
easily as a florist would arrange a bouquet. Not one tree 
overshadowed another, nor seemed out of place — no same- 
ness, but the variet}' which we see in the wild wood. If it is 
" the height of art to conceal art," then this was it. By the 
side of this grove or plantation of forest trees, a winding 
toad led from the highway' up to the house, and at a certain 
point, where we emerged from a wood almost as heavj- and 
dark as the thickest pine forest, we came out in full view of 
the mansion directly in front of us, a few statel3' elms 
standing before it upon the lawn, back of it the extensive 
orchards, and to our left the barns, painted and clapboarded, 
with ventilated cupola and a vane, and with large sheds 
enclosing the j'ards on north and east, which, in their turn, 
were sheltered from the winds, as also from sight, excepting 
from the south, b}' hedges of evergreens. Perhaps it was 
because everything was neat and tid}' about the place, and 
because the squire's horses and cattle were always smooth 
and fat and well-cared for, and his tools of the best patterns 
and in good repair, and well-painted and housed when not in 
use, that the opinion was so generall}' entertained that the 
squire's farm cost more mone}' to carry on than all it brought 
in. But if the people had known just how much the farm 
contributed toward a real expensive living ; if they could 
have counted the cost of all the fruit of all sorts, the milk 
and cream and butter, the eggs and poultry, the vegetables 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 21 

and meat which so bountifully supplied the tables there ; and 
the horses and carriages always ready for use, as I have 
since seen people count them who have lived in similar stj-le 
in cities or villages, I think that they might have changed 
their opinion a little. 

But here we are at the door, and the squire comes out 
to help us out of the wagon, and Aunt Matilda waits at the 
door to welcome us in, and while the boys, Cousin Henry lead- 
ing the way, go to the stable to put the horse in, we go into 
the warm sitting-room, and mingle our tears again at the 
memory of that sad scene of but a few daj^s ago. There is a 
little surprise, scarcel}^ concealed, at so early a visit from us, 
but mother saj's she " wanted to talk to the squire a little, by 
and b}', about the business," and at once it seems the most 
natural thing in the world that she should be there. But 
nothing is said about the nature of the business until the boj's 
come in after a long inspection of the stables and the stock 
that were in them. Then mother called and led the way into 
the squire's own room. This room opened out of the sitting- 
room, and unless the doors were closed between them, which 
they were not on this occasion, there was not any appearance 
of secrecy, but I doubt if my mother would have thought the 
squire's opinion was worth listening to if it had been given 
in the family sitting-room. At any rate, it would not have 
had official weight, as it did in that little room. Perhaps the 
squire himself would not have been able to think as clearly 
or speak so much like oue "clothed in authority" if he were 
not in that arm-chair in the little room. 

But oncefairl}^ seated in there, with Clarence at her right 
hand, mother told her story plainly enough, telling first of 
Uncle Robert's plans for us, and then of her dislike at the idea 
of leaving the old farm, and of Clarence's idea and of her 
doubts and fears in regard to the possibility of his succeed- 
ing in making a living and paj'ing interest and taxes, and all 
that, if he attempted it. Clarence said nothing ; but I could 



22 HOW WE SAVED TtlE OLD FAHM. 

see from where I sat how carefully he watched the squire's 
countenance as the stor}' went on, and I almost thought I 
could hear his heart beat when the squire glanced at him in 
astonishment as mother told of his daring to think that he 
could manage the farm. After my mother had finished, the 
squire waited a few minutes as if in thought, and I am sure 
my heart beat loudly, for I felt that in the decision which we 
should get la}' our fate. It rested with this man to say 
whether we were to remain in our home, which had so long 
been a happy one to me, or whether we should be banished to 
Blackington, with all its horrors, known or imaginary. I 
know now that Blackington is quite a pleasant village when 
one is in the pleasant part of it, but I had only rode through 
the streets where shops and factories and tenement-houses 
most abounded. 

" Well, Mrs. Re3'nolds," said the squire at last — it was 
another oflicial notion to call her by her title and surname ; 
in the sitting-room he would have called her " Helen." I 
could not help noticing this in the midst of my anxiet}', and 
it made his words seem to have more weight — " I do not like 
the idea of your going to Blackington, anywa}'. It is not a 
very good place to bring up the children, I daresay, though un- 
der 3-our excellent care and instruction I have no doubt they 
would turn out well even among greater temptations than 
they would meet there ; but the boj's would have their trades 
all to learn if they went there to work in shop or factory, and 
would not get much wages at first, nor would 3'ou like to 
board such fellows as work in those shops, though there are 
some fine 3'oung men among them. But if 3'ou kept a board- 
ing-house, you nmst, of necessit}', take in some that you would 
not like to associate with, or have Alice know. But on the 
ftirm 3'ou are at home ; the boys hav-e their trades, the no- 
blest in the world, — the trade of growing food for all mankind, 
Mrs. Re^'nolds — almost learned, or, at least, well under- 
way' ; and although young, the}' are willing and smart, 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 23 

and I would advise letting them trj' for a 3'ear or two anyway. 
They ma}' possibly make some blunders, and it is possible 
that you may fall a little behind the first 3'ear or two, unless 
they work very hard and very steadily, and are very luck}' ; 
but they will be growing older and stronger and wiser every 
year, and I feel sure they will succeed finall3^ If 3'ou do not 
meet 3'our interest eve r}^ year, I shall not be hard uponj'ou, 
and could even help j'ou to a little more money if it was needed 
and I thought 3'ou were using it wisely. The farm would 
stand a much heavier mortgage than I have on it. But I 
hope that, at the worst, you would not fall behind more than 
your interest, and a lucky year after the boj's get a little older 
would make that right again. If m}' advice will do 3'ou 
any good, I tell 3'ou I think j-ou had better take this risk than 
to sell and move, which would be a greater risk, and I will look 
after Master Clarence a little and give him my advice about 
anj'thing that he needs it on. If 3'ou onl}' had a little more 
capital, to get better stock and tools, I am sure that the farm 
would pa3' well." 

And with a sigh, as I thought, at the unfortunate condi- 
tion of those who had not the better stock and tools, the 
squire arose, as if he had no more to sa3'. M3' mother also 
arose, but, before passing out into the sitting-room again, she 
replied : — 

" More capital, to bu3' stock and tools, is what I have not 
got, squire, and I do not mean to put an3^ heavier mortgage 
on the farm to get it, either. If the bo3's cannot get along 
with such as their father had there, and left there, they must 
earn it for themselves, or they ma3^ give it up entirel3-." 

And Clarence added : " I can get along with what is there 
until I am able to bu3^ better, and I hope, b3' and b}-, to be 
able tobu3' Jersey cows and mowing-machines and all those 
tilings for m3'self." 

So the matter was settled, and we were to sta3' upon the 
farm. Those only who have felt the dread of losing a dearl}'- 



24 HOW ^VE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

loved home can realize how the weight was lifted off my heart, 
and how rapidly the lump in m}'' throat which had so oppressed 
me for days past, when I had thought of what might be, 
melted away. I could almost have sung in spite of the black 
garments which I wore. And shortl}' after dinner came, and 
we ate, I at least, and I thought the others, with a better ap- 
petite than while we were in doubt. And then the squire and 
Clarence walked out together, in which walk I think Clarence 
received many hints in regard to his management of the farm, 
and also was led to advance quite freely his ideas in regard 
thereto. And Ned and Henrj- made a tour of the ground and 
farm buildings again, while mother and I sat and talked 
with Aunt Matilda and my cousins. There were two girls — 
Matilda, a beauty of eighteen, and Mary, a little more than a 
3'ear younger. Henry was but little j'ounger than Clarence, 
but in his ways nearer a mate for Ned. Then, there was an 
elder son, Thomas, who was studj'ing law in Boston, and 
whom I had not seen for man}' j'ears, though I had heard 
ranch praise of him from Aunt Matilda and the girls, w'ho 
looked upon him as one who was destined for greater things 
even than being a country' squire. I could scarcely* conceive of 
an}' higher position, but felt that there might be such a thing. 
And before night we went home, and I felt as if that home 
was never so precious as now, when we had seemed so near 
losing it. 

CHAPTER IV. 

And now let me give you some description of this farm, 
which was of so much importance to us. Imagine an old-fash- 
ioned two-story house, that had once been painted red and 
now was sadl}' in need of painting again, standing a little 
back from the road. No blinds, no piazza, the window's 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 25 

small, and with small glass. The massive chimney in the 
centre, two front rooms facing the west, one each side of the 
front door, a long kitchen back of the chimney, with doors 
opening out of it into each front room, a bedroom at one 
end of the kitchen, a pantry at the other, and the chamber 
stairwa}' by the side of the pantr}-, while the cellar-stairs went 
down under them, from a door opening out of the porch. 
The porch was on the north-east corner of the house, and con- 
tained a wash-room and a wood-room. There was a corn- 
barn a little wa}^ from the house, and another building, in one 
end of which was a piggery, and in the other a small hen-house. 
Be3'ond these, the barn, low, unpainted, about thirty feet long 
and twenty-eight feet wide. The great doors opening to the 
west — the buildings all stood upon the east side of the road — 
a small door at the south-west corner, giving entrance to the 
horse-stall, and one at the south-east, opening into the cattle 
stables. At the south side was the barn-yard, surrounded by 
a high board fence ; no shed, no cellar, and no watering-place. 
The cattle and horse were turned into the pasture twice every 
day to drink from a brook a few rods away, unless it was such 
bad weather that it was better to bring water from the well at 
the house. Around the buildings were a number of apple 
trees that stood where the}' stood in the da3's of my grand- 
father, though many of them had long been so much decaj'ed 
at the heart that the hens had stolen their nests and reared 
broods of chickens in their capacious trunks, gaining entrance 
where large limbs had been cut off near the ground. As for 
the land, I can give you no better idea than by reproducing 
here a sketch of the fields, which Clarence made a short time 
after he took charge of the farm. I know not whether he took 
the idea from something he had read, or from his talk with the 
squire, but I give it, as I found it a short time ago, in an old 
ledger which had been my father's and his father's before him, 
but which their scanty accounts had never filled : — 

" Field No. 1, around the house, called Six Acres, but as 



26 HOW WE SAVED TlIE OLD FARM. 

the buildings take up some room, and the j^ards more, upon 
which we get no grass, I shall call it Five Acres, from which we 
got last year four loads of hay that father called four tons. 
Slopes to the west ; has not been ploughed for man}" years. 
There are twenty apple trees, which are all old and do not 
bear much. I must trim them up and try to make them last 
until I get a new orchard bearing. 

" Field No. 2, back or east of the barn ; about four acres, 
very rocky, sloping to the north and west. Here I mean to 
put the new orchard. We cut two tons of hay last year on 
this field. I don't know when it was ploughed last. 

" Field No. 3, side of road, north of barn ; about two acres, 
runs down to the river. Was sowed to grass two years ago, 
after raising potatoes and corn, and cut last year two large 
loads of ha}", part clover. Between this and No. 2 is a lane 
which goes from barn-j-ard to pasture. No. 2 does not go 
quite to the river, and the cow^s go on the north and east of it, 
and No. 1 and No 4. 

" Field No. 4, south of Field No. 1, eight acres, runs from 
road back to pasture ; slopes to south-west. Father had corn 
there last 3'ear, and we got two hundred and sixty baskets of 
ears of good corn, besides the small corn that we fatted the 
cow and pigs on. East end is sandy, but the squire said it 
was good land if it onl}' had manure. It is now in rA'e, which 
father sowed among the corn. 

" Field No. 5, across the road from barn, between pond and 
road, about two acres, but the side next the pond is too wet 
to plough. Father has always had a garden of about an acre 
next the road, and the rest cuts about a ton of rather poor 
ha5'. Father used to Avish the rocks in field No. 2 vreve built 
into a wall along the side of the pond, and some of the gravel 
from the hill in the pasture was put on the land below the gar- 
den, but he never begun it and I don't know as I ever shall. I 
suppose it would take many loads of gravel and a great deal 
of work to build the wall. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 27 

" Field No. 6, twelve acres, south of No. 5 ; north end slopes 
to the south, but most of it is nearly level ; a wet, miry place 
in the middle, which I never knew to be ploughed, running from 
road to pond. Father had about two acres in north-east corner 
and three on south edge, being the two driest parts of it, planted 
to potatoes, and we had about three hundred bushels of good 
ones. On the rest we cut six loads of hay, what we call 
' Deacon English.' If it were drained, the squire says, it 
would cut more grass than all we cut now, and I mean to do 
it if I live. 

"Field No. 7 is properly a part of the pasture, being a three- 
acre lot of bog meadow, Ij'iug by the side of the river, a 
quarter of a mile north-east of the house, on a little brook 
that runs out of the woodland. I think the mud is very 
much like the meadow-muck, or peat, that I read of in the 
papers as being so good to put into the manure heap. I 
shall ask the squire about it, and if it is I shall draw out a 
lot of it when I get a chance. The cows go in there and eat 
a little when the grass first starts in the spring, and again 
after we have mowed it ; but it is so coarse the}' do not like 
it very well. We cut four or five loads of bog hay, which we 
mostly use for bedding. Do not always mow the farther end 
of it, as it is more work to pole it to shore than it is worth. 
I wonder if it is possible to do an^'thing with it but to dig 
mud out of it to put into the barn-yai'd, and cut bedding off 
it? Must ask the squire about that, and about cranberries. 
And I must read all I can about the cranberry business, for 
I think it pa^-s great profits, and I may have a chance on 
some of these lots to try it. 

"Field No. 8, pasture and woodland, east of all the rest. 
There ought to be eightj^-three acres in all, of which thirty 
or forty may be covered with wood, and the rest verj' poor 
pasture. It is much larger than the squire's pasture, and he 
keeps about twenty cows, while here four have hard work to 
find enou2;h to eat. It does not do to turn the oxen in with 



28 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

the cows, but we have to put them into the mowing fields 
after haying, and have to put the cows into them, too, as 
soon as we can. 

"We cut then what we called fifteen tons of haj-, besides 
the bog in the pasture, and with that and the corn-fodder we 
make out to keep the horse, j'oke of steers, and four cows. 
Ten years from now I mean to tell a different story, if I live 
and do well." 

Now you see what a task this boy had placed before him- 
self, and, in part, how far his ambition reached ahead. 



CHAPTER V. 

The next morning, as soon as the chores were done, Clar- 
ence came and asked mother for a dollar that he might go 
to the saw-mill, about a mile below, and buy a load of slabs. 
We could get a load for that price as large as the horse and 
oxen could draw home, and many people bought them for 
fire-wood ; but we never had been in the habit of doing so, 
and mother asked in some surprise what he wanted of them. 

" If I had a few of them that I could pick out of the load 
I could use them instead of boards for some work I want to 
do about the barn. I have nails enough, and 1 want to 
make the barn warmer. I can do it ver}' easily, and the 
papers say that a warm barn is better for the stock, and saves 
hay and grain. Now, our old barn is ver}' cold, and it will 
cost but little to make it much warmer. There are cracks 
back of the cows where I can almost run m^* finger through. 
What slabs are not fit to use for that will do for kindling-wood, 
and I have a number of other jobs that I want to do with the 
best of them." 

"Couldn't you do with a few that you could get for less 
money ? " 



HO\y WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 29 

" It will take just as long to go after a few, and about as 
long to pick out such as I want, as it would to get a full load, 
and thej' might not like to sell them and have me pick them 
out. Deacon Smith buys them for fire-wood, and sells what 
he cuts in his woods. You know he would not do that 
unless it was cheapest to do so." 

" Well, I will let you have the dollar, but you must think 
that the dollars are scarce, and it depends upon you to get 
more for us.' 

So he and Ned started for the mill, and before noon were 
back with a fine load of slabs, which were thrown off and 
sorted in two piles, one pile suited for the contemplated 
work, and the other as fit only for fire-wood. Much to my 
surprise, the first pile was ver}^ large and the other very 
small, but Ned explained by saving that they had picked out 
of a very large heap, and had the privilege of taking such as 
they wanted. Some of the slabs were four feet long and 
others as much as twelve. Ned said the short ones were 
box-board slabs and the others came oflE" long boards. 

After dinner, it being warm and pleasant, a sort of Feb- 
ruary thaw, I was allowed to go out and help at the first job, 
which consisted in nailing the four feet-slabs against the side of 
the barn ; the lower end against the barn sill, and the upper end 
against the joist, which was about three feet from the floor. 
This left a space about three inches wide between the slabs 
and the outside of the barn, which Ned and I stuffed full of 
the poor meadow hay. Although the space was so small 3'et 
it seemed to hold a large amount of ha}', but after it was put 
in, and the last slab was put on, it seemed as if it were impossible 
for any wind to enter there, let it blow never so hard. Above 
the joist Clai-ence nailed slabs over the largest cracks, so that 
it seemed as if the stables were much warmer than before. 
While we were at work, Jake Wood came along the road, 
and, attracted by the sound of the hammering, came into the 
barn. Seeing what we were at, he exclaimed, " And so the 



30 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FABM. 

squire thought same as Jake did for once, and j'ou have 
begun." 

" Yes," said Clarence, " the squire thought best for us to 
tr}- it? and I am trying to make these stables warmer." 

" Well, I reckon it's a good idea, for I never like to see 
cattle in the barn shivering as if they were out on the lee 
side of a hay-stack. Always seemed as if they must be hun- 
gry if the}- were cold. I know I want a powerful sight to eat 
in cold weather, more than I do in summer." 

"That is what the papers say : that cattle need more feed 
if kept in cold stables." 

" Well, I never thought no great shakes of farming b}- the 
papers and books, but the}' might happen right once in a 
while ; but the}' mostly talk as if a fellow had got to spend 
more than he makes or else he wouldn't make nothing." 

" But it may be a fact that it pays best to put money into 
farming business if you have it to put in," says Clarence, 
" You know the big stores that have the most money spent 
in getting everything to sell that people call for, are 
generally the ones that make the most money. ' Mone}' 
makes money,' Uncle Robert says, and if it does in other 
things, why shouldn't it in farming?" 

"I allow 3'ou are right, young man," says Jake, "but 
this here is going to make it awful dark in here, and you will 
have to leave a door or a window open to see to do your 
work, and that will make it colder than the cracks do." 

"I have thought of that, Jake, and I wish I had some 
windows to put in hero, but I don't know where to find them, 
and if 1 leave the window or door open when I am doing 
chores, I can shut it up when I get through, and have the 
barn warm at night, at any rate." 

" There, now," said Jake, " I shouldn't wonder if I could 
tell you where to find windows enough. Y'^ou know Bill 
Giles fixed up that old house of his last spring, and put in 
bigger windows and tore down the old porch and built a new 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 31 

one. I expect he has got all those "windoAvs stowed awaj'' 
somewhere, and the}' aint of no airthly use to him. I don't 
doubt but you could get them cheap enough." 

" But I have no money to buy them with, and I don't 
want to ask mother for an}', for she has but little, and I 
don't mean to spend more than I make, if I can help it." 

" You don't need no mone}', I don't believe, for he hasn't 
got no team, and if 3'ou would plough for him a da}* or two 
next spring, you would have money coming in instead of 
going out, and the oxen would in that way sorter pay for the 
windows in their own house," and Jake chuckled at the idea 
of thus getting the best of the oxen and Bill Giles at the 
same time. 

" Well, I will think about it, and ma^-be go and see Mr. 
Giles to-morrow. Now I must put up the cattle and do the 
chores," said Clarence, and Jake went his way, having first 
received an invitation to stop in again and see how we got 
along, and promised in response to " keep an eye on us and 
see that we went straight, for," said he, "I feel kinder re- 
sponsible for 3'ou now, seein' as I advised this plan before 
Squire Grey did." 

Next morning Clarence was off early, and quickly came 
back after the oxen and wagon, with which he went off 
toward Mr. Giles's house and soon back again with a load of 
boards, old but mostly sound, and an old door or two, which 
I recognized as a part of the porch which had been torn down, 
and a large pile of windows on top of the load, and with Bill 
Giles following after the load. 

Now, Mr. Giles was known to us by reputation as a good- 
natured, clever fellow, a good carpenter, but "as lazy as 
all da}- long," who had lately come into possession of the old 
house and a few acres of land b}^ the death of an old aunt, 
and he had modernized the house at a considerable expense, 
which it was thought his means did not warrant, although he 
performed the labor himself. Mother was a little worried at 



32 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

first for fear Clarence had hired him to do the work of his 
contemplated improvements, but was soon relieved by seeing 
Mr. Giles go off down the road again, after a short stop at 
the barn. Clarence soon came in and told us : "I had lirst- 
rate luck, I bought sixteen windows for thirty cents apiece, 
and all those boards and doors for two dollars more, and I 
am to pay for them by ploughing for Mr. Giles next spring, 
and he has loaned me some tools to do the work with, and 
has showed me how to do it better than I could have found 
out by myself in a week." 

" But what did you want of the boards and doors, my 
son ? " said m}' mother. 

" Oh, I am going to fix up a larger hen-house, so that 
Alice can have plenty to do this summer in raising chickens 
and taking care of them. You know the hens pay better 
tlian anything else, and I am going in for making the farm 
pay in som.e other waj* than b}' hard work." 

And off he went to the barn again, where I soon followed 
him, to find that he and Ned were cutting holes through the 
side of the barn, with the aid of the tools that were loaned 
by Mr. Giles. Before night they had cut a place for one 
half-window on the east side of the cow stable ; two more on 
the east side of the threshing floor, and two on the south end 
of the barn, back of the cattle, and another back of the 
horse, and one on the door of the hoi'se-stall, which, as you 
may remember, I told you was in the south-west corner of 
the barn. And they were all fixed so as to slide back when it 
was desired to open them, or to shut closely when it was 
cold. Thanks to the marking of Mr. Giles the^' were put in 
in a ver^' workmanlike manner, and in their proper places. 
Before night Mr. Giles came back, and approved of what 
had been done ; and then went with Clarence to the sjmd- 
hill back of the house, where they had a long talk, and Mr. 
Giles drove some little sticks down and seemed to be plan- 
nin<2: somethins: which I thought might be the hen-house 



HOW "VVE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 33 

which I heard of that morning for the first time. There was 
a place here where it was said gravel was taken out to build 
the dam for the old grist-mill which used to stand in the 
lower edge of what Clarence called " Field No. 3." The 
mill has been gone man}' years, but a part of the old dam 
stood there 3'et. In the pasture is what is called the gravel 
hole, open to south and west, where the}' dug into the south 
side of the hill after gravel ; and here I thought Clarence 
had planned for his hen-house, and I did not like the idea of 
having to take care of the hens and chickens if it was to be 
so far from the house. When he came in I asked him about 
it, and he said my guess was right. When I expostulated, 
he said : " You see it is to be more of a summer hen-house 
than anything else. This one will do very well for winter, 
when I have put one or two more windows in it, but that 
will be a warm place, with lots of good gravel and sand for 
them, and if we should keep so many hens next winter that 
we should need to use it, Ned and I can take care of them 
then. In summer you will find it only a pleasant walk up 
there." 

The next day the boys were busy digging into the side of 
the old sand-bank and putting in posts for the new hen- 
house, and mother found me employment in the house, and 
although at night both had blistered hands and were will- 
ing to go to bed early, I could not see that their enthusiasm 
had flagged at all, while I rather thought Ned looked up to 
Clarence with a respect which he had not been wont to feel 
for his elder brother, and upon the second day they were as 
eager to get oflT to their work as if it had been only play. Before 
noon I saw Bill Giles going up there, and, to my surprise, 
he stayed at work until nearly night. When he passed the 
house, going toward home, my mother felt it necessary to go 
out and tell him that she could not afford to pay carpenter's 
wages for the work up there, and she was afraid Clarence 
could not work for him long enough to pay him that way, if 



34 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

he was intending to take care of the farm at home ; but he 
quickl}' silenced her b}' saying, laughingl}-, that he had not 
anything else to do, and he reckoned it was just as well for 
him to be there as down at the tavern. 

" Besides that, ma'am, it is as good fun as any play I ever 
done to work with those little chaps, the}^ are so earnest 
about it all, as if their fortunes depended upon it." 

And we could hear his hearty laugh ringing after he had 
passed the barn. By this time it had attained quite a re- 
semblance to a building, as seen from the house, and Ned 
was ver}'^ anxious for mother and I to go and look at it, but 
we did not, for the wind blew cold and the following day 
was the Sabbath, and we intended to go to church. We 
did, however, go to the barn that mother might see how 
much more pleasant it looked there with the windows in it, 
and the cracks carefully' stopped. So ended the week which 
had begun so sadly for us. Already through the heavy 
clouds light seemed to be breaking. Even in our great 
affliction we could rejoice that there was one greater depth 
of misery — the miser\' of having to leave our loved home — 
which we were not to be called upon then to fathom. And 
althougli we were entering upon what seemed like a doubtful 
experiment, 3-et the calm self-confidence of mj' elder brother 
gave us courage to indulge ourselves in hoping for the 
best. 



CHAPTER VI. 

As m}' purpose is to tell you of our farm and its manage- 
ment, rather than to dwell upon other topics, I will not pause 
to describe the congregation nor the sermon, though as the 
venerable pastor made appropriate reference to our sudden 
bereavement, and prayed that we might be led to place our 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAPtM. 35 

trust in *' Him who is the God of the widow and the father- 
less," it made an impression upon m}- mind which had been 
made b}^ no religious service before, and which has never 
been obliterated. Many came up to tender their sympathy to 
m}' mother, some of whom we had previously' looked upon as 
strangers, but if they could have known that all the time I was 
more in the mood for giving thanks for escaping the prospect 
of Blackiugton, with its real and imaginary horrors, I fear 
tliat I should have obtained but little sj'mpathy there. 

With Monday- morning came a snow-storm, which, for some 
days, put a stop to work out of doors, but Clarence was busy 
fixing up little household conveniences. Little shelves were 
made and put into almost every imaginable place, which were 
afterward found to be most hand^' ; hanging-shelves were 
securely put up in the cellar, buttons were fixed on doors 
in the house and on the other buildings, wood and slabs were cut 
and neatl}' piled in the wood-house, tools were mended, old 
Charley's harness was brought in, washed, stitched, and 
oiled as it never was before, and I know not what would have 
been done if the weather had not at last com.e so that the}* 
could begin on the hen-house again. At last it cleared up, 
and they were able to work there, and the first day I was in- 
vited to help put hay into the walls, as we did at the barn. 
It was my first inspection of the new building, and I was 
glad to satisfy m}' curiosity in regard to it. It was twelve 
feet wide and twenty-four feet long, five feet high at the 
back side and about nine on the front, facing the south. The 
sides were covered with the twelve-foot slabs from the mill, 
excepting where spaces had been left for doors and windows. 
The roof was made of some of the old boards which came 
from Mr. Giles's, and the cracks in the roof were carefully 
battened, as Clarence called it, with other boards or slabs, so 
that but very little rain could come through. Ned and I 
were set to lining the walls b}- nailing slabs to the posts upon 
the inside and stuffing haj' between them and the outside. 



36 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

while Clarence went at the more difficult job of fixing in the 
windows and the door, at which he was soon assisted by Bill 
Giles, who sauntered up with his hands in his pockets, and at 
first showed Clarence how to do the work, and then soon 
after threw off his coat with the remark that he "might as 
well help a little as to stand there and freeze looking on," and 
was quickly as busy as an}' of us, and accomplishing much 
more. I doubt if he would have worked with as good a relish 
if he had been hired b}' the day, and feel sure that he would 
not if he had been working for himself. With his skilful help 
five whole windows were quickl}' put into the south side, and 
a door upon the south at the west corner ; then a half-win- 
dow was put in the east end near the roof, and another op- 
posite to it in the west end, and the building was completed, 
as I thought. But it was to be furnished, and roosts were 
made and put across the east end. I wondered why the win- 
dows were all crowded toward the door, but Clarence ex- 
plained that that was the bedroom, and he did not want too 
much light there. The roosts were onl}' about two and a 
half feet from the ground, for Clarence said he did not want 
the hens to have too far to fl}'^ down, as if he got Brahma 
hens, as he meant to, it would hurt them to come down, as 
they were so heavy. Then rows of nests were made on the 
back side and west end, one row on the ground and another 
just above them, giving room for about fort}' nests. Clarence 
said the lower row he meant to keep to set the hens in. At 
Bill's suggestion Ned was sent with the horse to bring up a 
lot of laths that came out of the old porch, which were of no 
use to him excepting for kindling-wood, but would do well for 
nailing on the windows to keep the hens from flying through 
them, and for making coops which would fasten the hens into 
the lower nests while setting, or rather, would let them come 
off to the gravel floor, but keep them from going back on an}' 
other nest but their own. "While he was gone Bill made a 
feed-box by building a bench midway of the room and fasten- 



HOW ^VE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 37 

ing on it a V-shaped trough large enough to hold a b ushel of 
corn, with a narrow crack at the bottom where the corn 
would rattle down upon the bench. But little could come 
out before the heap on the bench would stop the crack, and 
no more could come until the hens had eaten the heap, or a 
part of it. In the ground he also put a trough for water, 
with a cover nearly over it, where there was just room for the 
hens to drink without scattering dirt into their water. I no- 
ticed that this was put where the sun shone on it longest, and 
the cover was made of a broken tin-pan, because Bill said it 
would warm the water more in the sunshine than if the cover 
was of wood. The feed-box was put upon the bench, I was 
told, in order to keep rats from getting at the corn, and to 
make it more secure, an old-tin pan was nailed, bottom up, 
upon the top of each leg, under the bench. Before night all 
was finished, and I was sent to the house to ask mother to 
come and examine it. I doubt if the architect of any of the 
magnificent public buildings in this country felt more genuine 
pride when the committee came to examine and approve his 
work after it was completed, than did my brother when mother 
stepped into the building and glanced around. 

" Surel}'," said she, "3'ou have done very well indeed with 
what 3'ou had to work with. But why have you built it so 
large? It is large enough for an hundred fowl." 

" It was just about as easy to make it large as small, for 
the slabs were just so long, and I hope to have an hundred 
fowl here next winter, if I have good luck." 

"I think Mr. Giles must have helped you a good deal, for 
it looks more like his work than boys' work." 

" Well, ma'am," saj'sBill, " what I've done hasn't been of 
much account, and I guess the bo^^s would have figured it 
out without me, somehow, but I kinder wanted to give them 
a lift because I know what it is to puzzle over a job that I 
wasn't just used to, and I may want a lift from them some 
time, for I have got a little land down there, and I don't 



38 HOW VTE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

know just how to manage, because I was not brought up on 
a farm. Now, you see, I have been wanting a hen-house 
mj'self down there, and I thought I couldn't afford to buj 
lumber to build it if times was so hard, and there I had lots 
of it better than this is built of, but I didn't know how to use 
it. But I have enough of it left, and I reckon I will build 
one for myself now, and the plan of this is Avorth more than 
mj' work, ain'way." 

"Well, William," said my mother, and I knew by the use 
of the Christian name that he was at last acknowledged as a 
neighbor, in the Scriptural meaning of the word, and that his 
kindness or his praise of her boj^s had overcome her dislike 
of his laziness, " I am ver}' sure that you have helped very 
much, and if we can do anything for yon, I hope you will not 
be afraid to ask for it, and we will tr}- to be as willing as vou 
have been to help the bo3-s." 

" There is a wa}', ma'am, that 3'ou might help me a great 
deal more, but I am a'most afraid to ask such a favor, only 
j-ou speak so kind, and I know j-ou feel kind. You see 
my wife was brought up to work in a factory, and she don't 
know so much about housework as she would if her mother 
had lived on a farm, though she used to tend a loom 
as well as an\- of them ; but it was just killing her to work 
there, and I married her, and now if she could run up here 
once in a while and get 3-ou to show her about how to make 
such bread and pies and things as ^'on make, and. a little 
about fixing up clothes for herself and the little ones, it M-ould 
do us a power of good, and I would be willing to do ten times 
as much as I have done for the boAS. Fact is, ma'am, I 
know I aint just what I ought to be all the time, but I go 
home and find victuals spoilt bv not being cooked right, and 
the old woman cross because clothes will wear out, and she 
don't know how to fix them decent again, and she 
knows I can't find mone^' to buy new all the time, and she 
scolds, and then I swear, and likelj' enough go off to the tav- 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 39 

era and make a fool of mj'self, and that only makes things 
worse, and I have thought of it a lot since I have been at 
work here and seeing how busy these bo^'s were, and pleasant 
about their work, and how neat and tid}' their clothes are, 
though I'll warrant it does noi cost as much to dress all of 
'em as it does for clothes for me." 

And Bill shifted his feet uneasily and affected to be pick- 
ing up nails from the ground, as he awaited a repl}'. 

" Certainl}', William, let her come up any time, and I 
will show her all I can, and help her about fixing up clothes 
for herself and the bab}', and for 3'ou, too, and I may be able 
to find something that our children have outgrown that will 
do to make over for them and will piece out." 

"Thank j-ou, ma'am, very much. I will tell her, and I 
warrant she will be as pleased as if I had had another farm 
left me," and Bill hurried away with a suspicious moisture in 
his ej'es, although he "whistled as he went" a gay dancing 
tune. 

Do not smile, gentle reader, at this changing of works and 
giving awa}- old clothes. Such friendly acts were the cus- 
tom of that region, and served to keep alive good feeling 
among neighbors, who were thus drawn together until neigh- 
bors were almost as near as members of one famil}'. After 
Bill had gone, mother and I went to the house, while the 
bo3's proceeded to throw gravel against the outer walls of the 
building until they had it banked up nearly three feet high 
on the north, east, and west, so as to be still more impervious 
to cold winds and rain. 

During all this time our hens, of which we had about forty, 
had been giving us a liberal supply of eggs at the old hen- 
house, and a few dajs before Ned had announced that the 
speckled-necked one wanted to set, and Clarence gave orders 
for her to be left on the nest. To-night he found another 
setting and told Clarence of it at the supper-table. 

' ' Just what I wanted, and how lucky, just as 1 was ready 



40 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

for it. I am going to the squire's in the morning to get some 
of his Brahma eggs. I will carry over two dozen and a half 
of ours to change with him. They will do just as well for 
them to cook, and I want the Brahma chickens." 

" You do not think of setting hens now, do you, Clar- 
ence? They will come off in March, and j'ou cannot raise 
them in such cold weather." 

" I could not in the old hen-house, but in the new one they 
will be almost as warm as in summer, and early chickens sell 
for such a great price that I hope it will pay well." 

I petitioned for a chance to go with him ; but as he said 
he must walk, for he did not dare to carry the eggs in a 
wagon over the frozen ground, for fear they would not hatch, 
and that he should be off by daylight, I did not care to avail 
myself of the permission which he so readil}^ gave. That 
very night the nests in the new hen-house were made ready, 
by hollowing out two of those on the ground, lining them 
with cut-ha}', and sifting a good handful of wood-ashes over 
them, as Clarence said, "to keep off the lice. Sulphur 
would be better, but I have not got it, and cannot get it 
short of the Corners. I think the ashes will do in this new 
building." Then the hens were brought up there and put on 
the nests and the nest-eggs put under them and the coops put 
before them to keep them from wandering away. This was 
done that they might get settled to their new nests before the 
precious eggs were put under them. Sure enough, Clarence 
was off b}' daylight in the morning, and returned before noon, 
with his basket of eggs, so little tired with his walk of ten 
miles that he went immediatel}' at work on the piggery, some- 
what to our surprise. But soon after noon one of the men 
that I had seen at Squire Gre3-'s, at work, drove into the 
yard with two fine hogs in the team wagon, whicli he pro- 
ceeded to unload into the st}-, after knocking at the door and 
handing in a note for mother, which I will insert here that 
you may see the character of the man : — 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 41 

Stafford, Mass., Teb. 8. 
Mrs. Reynolds : — I have sent over to Clarence two fine young sows, 
which I have scarcely room for in my piggery. They are both with 
pig, and I shall expect him to pay me twenty-five dollars for them when 
he sells the pigs, or I will take them back and pay him a dollar a week 
for keeping the two until they farrow, and after that a dollar and a half 
a week for four weeks, if he takes good care of them and feeds them 
well. They are at my risk until that time, so do not fear his running 
in debt. I should not have been in such hurry about getting them 
away, but it might hurt them to move them later. He has told 
me of his new hennery and his plans in regard to it, and I can pack up 
five dozen eggs each week and send over, that he may not have another 
such long walk, and you may send in return the same number of yours. 
I think I can pack them so they will hatch none the worse for the ride. 
I have also offered to take his calves when they are dropped, if he will 
bring them over to me at two days old, and give him in exchange heifer 
calves from my Alderney cows, full or half-blooded, which he can raise 
according to his own ideas. The calves from your cows will be worth 
more to me to raise for veal. The Alderneys are worth much more to 
make cows of, and I should raise them myself if I had a man that I 
could trust to take the pains with them that your boys will. Hoping 
and believing that those will achieve success who so richly deserve it, 
I am yours respectfully, 

JAMES GREY. 

I could scarcely realize that we were to have pigs, Jersey 
calves, and Brahma chickens just as fine as those which I had 
admired at the squire's ; but it was trul}^ so, and j^et the 
squire's letter read almost as if we were doing him a favor in 
receiving them. As soon as the man had driven awa}", I hur- 
ried out to look at the pigs. There they were, perhaps not 
much different from hundreds that I had seen, but thej* were 
our own, for, girl though I was, I was beginning to feel an 
interest in the out-of-door management of the farm which I had 
never felt before. They were yet in the outer yard, for they 
had so soon followed Clarence home that he had not finished 
his work on the piggery, but was sawing boards and fitting 
them in. He had fixed the trough so that he could shut the 
pigs away from it while he put in the food for them, and had 



42. now WE SAVED TIDE OLD FAEM. 

made a new plank (or slab) walk for them to come up on into 
the house from the yard, and had made the 3'ard fence strong 
and tight, and when 1 asked what more he had to do, replied : 

"Don't you see? The}- must be separated by and b}^, 
before they have their pigs, and I ma^* as well get the boards 
all read}' so I can do it at an\' time in a few minutes. By 
and by I shall be busy about something else, and sliall not 
■want to stop to fix this up. So I will get it all read}' now ; 
but I shall let them sta}' together until almost time for them 
to have their little pigs and then part them oflJ"." 

So he had his partition all read}' to put in, and then made 
a good bed of hay for them and let them in, and made a 
partition in the yard, all but nailing on two boards which 
he cut and laid by all ready. He was at some pains to take 
out a bottom rail which they would have had to step over, as 
he said it was very bad for them to have any such thing in 
their way, and he also put rails all around the inside of their 
sleeping-places about nine inches from the floor, and the 
same distance from the wall, because, he said, when they had 
little ones they were apt to lie down against the side of the 
pen, and when the pigs were small they would get caught be- 
tween the mother and the board, and in that way get jammed 
so as to kill them. But if the rails were there the little pig 
would slip under the rail, and off out of the way, without 
being hurt. AVhen I asked him how he knew so much about 
pigs, " By my reading, miss," was the answer I got, "and 
not because I was brought up amongst them." 

And now we were fairly under way with the farming. "We 
were not having much milk, as we were milking only one 
cow, for one was a heifer that had never had a calf, and the 
other two were to calve in April and were now dry. The 
heifer was one that father had traded for, and was not ex- 
pected to calve until -Tune, while the old cow, which was now 
giving milk, would calve in May. But we had hens setting in 
the new hen-house ; more at the old one, giving us plenty of 



HOW "WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 43 

eggs, for it was and had been all wintex- my task to give them 
corn and oats and scraps of meat and warm water several 
times a da}-, and I had carefully attended to it at first, 
because the egg-money was mother's from which she bought 
my boots and dresses, as well as her own, and I was desirous 
that there should be no lack, and since Clarence had taken 
charge, because I wished to help all I could to save our farm 
and make it pav. 

And so the rest of the month passed without any events of 
especial importance, and so did most of March. The boys 
were busy preparing wood for the next year's use in stormy 
weather, while, when it was pleasant enough, they threw over 
the manure which was in the barn-yard into a large heap, 
that, as Clarence said, it might heat and get better fitted for 
use. He was so eager to increase the size of that heap that 
he cleaned up all the accumulation of the chip dirt in the 
wood-house and around the wood-pile out of doors, and 
added to it, and the dirt in the lane-way, for almost a foot 
deep was scraped up and put in with the rest ; but I own I 
was hardl}- prepared, on going to call him to dinner one day 
to find that he had taken up the floor of the cow stable, and 
was throwing out the dirt from underneath, which Ned was 
wheeling to the heap. 

"You see, sis," he said, "this has been under here for 
fort}- years, and lots of stuff has soaked through the floor 
cracks into it and in from the outside, and it is just as rich as 
it can be, and I am going to take it all out and fill it up with 
dry sand out of the sand-hill, and then get Bill Giles to help 
me put in some new sticks here and lay a new floor. This 
has got so rotten in some places that I am afraid it will break 
through and some of the cattle will get a broken leg, which 
will be a bad job for us. And that hole outside I shall fill 
up with sand or loam, so as not to have a mud-hole full of 
dirty water there all summer, as there has been every summer 
since I can remember." 



44 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 



CHAPTER VII. 

All this time we had been looking for Mrs. Giles to come 
up to make us that call, and mother had planned what she 
would show her, and what she would give her ; so, when 
Clarence, after supper, announced his intention of going 
down to see if he could get Bill to come up next daj* to help 
about fixing the barn floor, mother told him to ask her to 
come with him and spend the da}' with us, and he returned 
with the news that they would do so. And in the morning 
they came. Bill carrying the bab}', a hearty-looking girl of a 
year old, and "Liza," as Bill called her, leading a boy of 
about three 3'ears. We had never seen Bill's wife and chil- 
dren, and I looked at them with some curiosity. She had on 
a faded dress of some woollen material, evidently cut and 
fitted for her by an experienced hand, but sewed b}^ herself, 
or some one who had little skill with the needle. Seams were 
drawn and puckered out of all shape or into all shapes but 
the right one. Buttons were fastened on the front for orna- 
ment, but not for use, as no button-holes had been made to 
correspond, and pins fastened the front together. A cheap 
shawl of gay colors and an expensive bonnet of a st^-le a 
yecLV or two old, which looked as if it had been sat down upon 
more than once, were her outward adornments, while, upon 
their removal, a variet}' of cheap jewelry was displayed. The 
children were arrayed in a cheaper style of garments, the boy 
having a jacket which I thought had been presented to her 
b}' some one whose bo}' had outgrown it, and a pair of pants 
which she had evidentl}' fashioned herself, judging by the cut 
and sewing of them, out of some cheap material. The pants 
and stockings did not meet, and the poor child's knees looked 
blue and half-frozen, at sight of which mj' mother could not 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAHM. 45 

help exclaiming ; a hat which she said was " like Bob's dog — 
his best dog, and all the dog he had," and a pair of good, stout 
shoes completed his outward attire, while the bab}', a little 
to m}' surprise, had on a neat and pretty dress of calico. 
She explained this by informing us during the day that one 
of Bill's cousins, who came down to see them a few weeks 
ago, had made the dress and sent it to her. She told much 
the same story that Bill had told at the hen-house, and spoke 
of her deficiencies in a way that led us to hope that she 
would willingly learn better ways if she had an opportunity. 
As a consequence of her freedom in speaking, my mother 
spoke to her more freely in regard to the faults of her dress 
than she was in the habit of speaking to people about their 
faults. She showed her how she made her yeast of potatoes 
and flour, and put up a large bottle full for her to take home 
with her to start some with at home, also how the bread 
was made with it, and the milk-biscuits for tea. She also 
gave her a hint about the preparation of that staple New- 
England dinner, a " boiled dish" of beef and vegetables, and 
instructed her carefull}' in the art of making light molasses 
gingerbread, which we all thought was better than an}' kind 
of expensive cake. I thought, and still think, that my 
mother could make the best gingerbread I ever ate, and it was 
both cheap and wholesome, two things which are much in its 
favor. She showed her also about the faults in her sewing, 
and lectured her about those faulty seams, and the pinned 
dress without button-holes, almost as severel}^ as she would 
have lectured me for the same faults. From some old bits 
of woollen clothes she cut some leggins to cover that boy's 
knees and thin stockings, and some mittens for his hands, 
and I was set to sewing them up, and putting buttons and 
button-holes to the leggins. 

The boy was like most boys of his age, full of play and 
mischief, and I soon noticed that he did not mind her at all. 
If refused anything that he called for, it usually ended by 



46 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD F.VEM. 

his setting up a yell that would not let us heai* anything else 
until he received it, or got a passionate blow on the head that 
made the uproar worse for awhile. I think before night I re- 
ceived permission to visit the burn, which I had been longing 
to do all day, on purpose that my mother might point out to 
her some of the faults in the management of her children, 
for it was a different task to speak of those faults than to 
correct those which were confessed, and which Mrs. Giles 
had come to ask for instruction upon. But I am confident 
that what mother said was well received, and I hope it bore 
fruit in time, though firmness and patience, which were what 
she most lacked in governing her children, were not to be 
acquired in a moment, and even a three years' old boy or a 
babe in arms knows when thej' can conquer by persistence, 
as well as children of larger growth, and it would have taken 
long to eradicate from those children the memory of the many 
times when, b}^ screaming and crying, they had forced the 
mother to j'ield to them. 

At the barn I found everything going on well under Bill's 
directions. Several loads of earth had been taken out to add 
to the compost heap. New sticks had been put under the 
floor where the old ones had decaj-ed, and in some places sup- 
ported by stone walls built for that purpose. The stone was 
taken from the nearest wall, " for," said Clarence, " I can re^ 
place the wall when I plough in the spring better than I can 
stop to dig stones now." Tlie floor was laid in such a way 
tliat the boys could easily take it up to put in the sand under it 
when they should be ready to do so, and before night it was 
finished, and some alterations made in the arrangements of 
the mangers from which the cattle and horse ate, so that they 
could be more easily cleaned out of all that the animals re- 
fused to eat, and also to bring them up nearer to the position 
in which a cow naturall}' stands, for although a cow feeds in 
the pasture with her nose level with her feet, she cannot do 
so as well when chained up bj' the neck. Rough but strong 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. " 47 

partitions were put up between the heads of the animals to 
prevent them from stealing food from one another, and a plan 
for a place for the expected calves, upon the opposite side of 
the threshing floor, was contrived for the boys to fix on 
some rainy day, or when the^^ were read}^ 

Before Bill and Liza went home mother offered to pa}' him 
for his day's work, for, she said, she could see the necessity of 
fixing the stable floors, and was willing to pay for it. " It 
is not like the hen-house work, which is an experiment of 
Clarence's, and I dare not risk money in experiments, if he 
risks his labor," she said. But Bill would not accept any- 
thing, saying that the bargain beforehand was that she was 
to teach Liza, and he was to work to pay for it. After a 
hearty supper, Clarence carried them home, and more than 
one bundle in the wagon besides, which mother had packed. 
Mother was saving, for she had learned to be so in the hard 
school of poverty, but she could give in consequence of it 
many things which were of value to the recipients greater 
than to herself. And, as I have said, such neighborly acts 
were current coin in Brookfield. 

All this time the sitting of hens at the new hennery had been 
going on at such a rate that the squire's five dozen per week 
were not enough, although, at first, thej'^ gained upon us, and 
Clarence was obliged to send word that he could use more if 
he could have them. Every day the hens were taken off and 
the eggs examined, and if one was broken in any nest the 
rest were carefully washed in warm water and replaced in 
the nest. When the time approached for the first sitting to 
come off in a few days, they were sprinkled with water every 
day to soften the shell, and one morning I was invited up to 
examine our first Brahma chicks. There were twentj'-six of 
them, one hen having hatched every egg, and the other 
eleven, all as white as the snow which lay on the ground out- 
side. They were equally divided, and the nests carefully 
cleaned out and supplied with clean straw, and they were 



48 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

left'where they were. Luckily it was tlie last snow of the 
season, and was rapidly melting, and before night the boys 
had fixed a place out of doors in front of the hen-house (on 
the south side) very much like a hot-bed frame, where the 
hens were placed in coops and the chickens allowed to run out 
in little j'ards under glass, the remainder of Bill's windows 
being used to cover them. Here the next day the hens and 
chickens were removed after the sun came out bright, but at 
night were put back into their nests inside ; and in this wa}' 
was each successive lot taken out, in very warm da3's the sash 
being removed in whole or in part during the warmest part 
of the day to gradually' accustom them to the air. After the 
first four hens had hatched, the rest, which had been set in 
pairs, were taken off two at a time and all the chickens placed 
under the care of one, while the other was carried back to 
the other hen-house, where she was soon lading again. 
When the coops were all filled, the oldest were turned out 
from under the glass, being then so large as to be in no dan- 
ger from the weather, which by that time had in fact got quite 
warm. But before that time, mother and I had been called 
out to the piggery on two different mornings to see the little 
white pigs that were there, seven in one lot and eight in the 
other, and they were all doing well. And they ought to if 
care could make them thrive, for the boys visited pigger}- and 
hennery a dozen times ever^' da)', though their stops were 
alwaj's short, for they were bus}' all the time. And I was 
often with them, for I felt as much interest in the farming as 
if I had been a bo}' myself, and but little was done that I did 
not know about and know the reason of, if I could get them 
to explain it to me. 

When the little pigs were about two weeks old there was a 
little calf at the barn, and I so much admired it that I re- 
gretted that we could not keep that and get the one from the 
squire's too, but when it was two days old the boj's loaded it 
into the wagon and carried it off, bringing back when they 



now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 49 

came another of about the same age, but much smaller and 
leaner-looking, in spite of its having come from one of the 
squire's fat cows. But it was pure Alderne}-, and its delicate 
fawn color and white, its fine head and large, beautiful eyes 
so much resembled ni}- idea of a 3'oung deer that I was quickly 
reconciled to its lack of size. They fed it on new milk a few 
days, putting their hands into the pan of milk and letting it 
suck the finger. I was allowed, as an especial favor, to offer 
my finger for that purpose, but I soon found its teeth were so 
sharp that I was contented to look on without taking any 
active part. In a few days, however, it knew enough to 
drink the milk without the finger being in its mouth, and then 
a part sweet skimmed milk was substituted for the new milk, 
and when it was two weeks old it was having onl^' skimmed 
milk, the skimmed being carefully warmed to the temperature 
of milk from the cow. But by that time another one was 
there, another change having been made with the squire, and 
the same process was gone through with for that, and moi-e 
than that, there were two little lambs. They were each one 
of a pair of twins from the squire's sheep, and he said he 
had rather have one good lamb than two poor ones on one 
sheep, so he asked Clarence to take them awaj-, telling him 
that they were easier to raise by hand than calves and were 
of his choicest breed of South Downs, which was why he 
preferred to keep only one on a sheep. How rich we felt ! 
two calves, two lambs, fifteen pigs, and over an hundred 
chickens already, and many more in prospect. 

Although the care of all this riches took up considerable 
time, the boys were bus_y ploughing and drawing out manure, 
and getting ready for planting ; and mother and I had the 
care of the milk and making the butter. Clarence the last 
time he went to the squire's brought home a patent churn, 
which he had borrowed there, it being one that was not used 
because it was too small for his great dairy, but it was large 
enough for our four cows. With this, one of the bo3s would 



50 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

churn in the morning before going to the field, saying it was 
nothing but fun beside the labor of our old dash-churn. The 
butter was light colored 3'et, but it showed the effects of the 
meal which Clarence was feeding, and we were willing to put 
it away for our own use, that we might have the more to sell 
when it got of better color, for we knew that yellow butter 
would sell better than white, even if they tasted just alike. 
And we were determined to allow ourselves nothing more 
than the comforts and necessaries of life until we were sure 
that we could do so without running in debt for them. 



oJO^o 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Bt the first of May, Ned and I were obliged to go to school, 
where we pursued our accustomed studies. Ned, though 
usually fond of school, begged to be allowed to remain at 
home through the summer to help about the work, but this 
my mother would not listen to for a moment. But as they 
had ploughed the fields which were ploughed last 3'ear, and 
planted a part of the garden, and had drawn in the sand to 
fill the hole under the barn floor, and also that one in the barn- 
yard, and had drawn manure upon the two-acre lot, in the 
large field, across the road, where potatoes grew last 3'ear, 
making quite a hole in the large heap that Clarence was so 
proud of, Clarence also insisted that he could get along 
alone, or with a little help from Jake Wood, if Ned would 
only do all he could before school-time in the morning and 
after school was out at night. In this lot, the north end of 
" Field No. 6," Clarence intended to plant potatoes, and he 
had ploughed the manure under, but upon the three-acre lot, 
in the same field, he intended to put corn, and had ploughed 
before manuring, intending to spread the manure on the top 
and harrow it in, as he had read in some of the farming 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FxVRM. 51 

papers, which he was alwa3's poring over in the evening, that 
that was the best way for corn. The eight-acre fiehl of rye 
was looking very well. It was quite time the potatoes weva 
jDlanted and the manure drawn out on the cornfield, and 
Clarence went after Jake Wood to come and help him a few 
days if he could get him. A little to m}^ mother's surprise, 
Jake made no objections at all to coming, merely saying that 
he should not want anj- pay for his work until fall, and then 
perhaps he should want something off the farm for a part of 
it. The boys had furrowed the potato field and had cut the 
potatoes for seed, evenings, when the}- could not do other 
work, and was all ready for the planting when Jake came in 
the morning. There were several barrels of wood-ashes in 
the cellar, and Jake and Clarence carried some of them out 
to the field, and Ned, before school, assisted in putting about 
a cupful in each hill as long as he could stay with them with- 
out being late at school. Jake had not deserted us all this 
time, but had called several times and inspected the operations 
of the boys, with which he was much pleased, and seemed to 
take much credit to himself for the encouragement which he 
had given to the plan at the first. 

" I tell you, ma'am," said Jake, that evening at the supper- 
table, "I never see anything to beat it since I was born. 
Them pigs and chickens and calves are growing like all natur', 
and if there isn't a good crop of pertaters on that lot we have 
planted to-da^', I never will guess again, for I was along here 
when they were carting the manure on there, and I never saw 
such lots of manure ploughed under in any field in Brookfield 
since I have lived here, which has been, man and boy, going 
on to sixty j-ears, now^. Seventy l)ig loads, Clarence tells 
me ; and then the ashes in the hill to kinder shove them 
along. I wouldn't wonder if there was more on that little lot 
this 3'ear than there was last j'ear on the two lots. I want to 
help dig them just for the fun of seeing the big ones roll out ; 
and if the boj's don't keep the weeds out of it, I will come 



52 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FA"RM. 

and pull them out myself, for it takes as much manure to 
raise a big horse-weed as it does for a big pei-tater. And 
there is manure enough left to give the other field, where he 
calculates to put the corn, about as heavy a coat as the 
pertater field has got, Avhich we will begin to draw out 
to-morrow." 

' ' Then j-ou have finished the potato field ? " asked my 
mother. 

" AVell, I guess we have, ma'am. That boy can handle a 
hoe just about as hand}' as any man T ever worked with, and 
we haven't stopped to play about it, though he had to go oflf 
about a half dozen times to attend to the critters, but he was 
right back ; and then Ned give us quite a lift in the morning 
and after school. Two boys like them chaps can do a heap 
of Avork when they set out, — and they work just as if they 
were play in'." 

' ' And Jake says he can help me until I get the manure on 
the cornfield and get it planted, mother," said Clarence. 

" Yes, ma'am," said Jake, " I can as well as not, for Rover 
and I have had a prett}' good time in the woods lately, and it 
will do him good to lie side of the wall and watch for wood- 
chucks awhile, and will give him a chance to think over his 
misbehavior." 

"What," I asked in some surprise, "does Rover ever 
misbehave ? " 

" Well, I am almost ashamed to tell of it, and perhaps I 
ought not to as he never done sich a thing before, but j'ou 
see, miss, I was down to the Corners j'esterda}', and there 
was a fellow there that I know, that had been into the tavern 
luitil he had got about ' how come 3-e so,' and he was out 
there front of the blacksmith shop talking and acting a little 
sill}^ I allow, and there was a gang of boys around him 
making fun of him. I felt bad for him, and I went by into 
the shop to get a trap fixed, just as if I hadn't seen him, and 
while I was in there I missed Rover, and I looked out and he 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 53 

was actuall}^ among those boys a langhin' at that fellow as if 
it was something fiinii}^ to see a man makin' a fool of him- 
self, when the Almighty meant that he should have sense. 
And I just called Rover in and made him lie down, and I 
told him how much ashamed of him I was, 'cause he had had 
sorter decent loringing up, and ought to have known better 
than to laugh at a man that was in that shape. And I set 
out not to let him come with me to-day, only he begged so 
hard, and seemed to be so sorry." 

Sureh^ enough, as I glanced at the dog, he had his bead 
down, with a sneaking look which I had never seen him have 
before. 

"But," said m}- mother, " it seems to me the bo^s ought 
to have had a talking to more than the dog." 

" Well, ma'am," said Jake, "I wasn't responsible for the 
boys ; their fathers were there in the blacksmith shop, some 
of them, anyway, and they might let their boys act so if 
the}" had a mind to, but a dog that I had under ray care 
shouldn't do it, if I knew it." And there was a twinkle in 
Jake's e^-e that told that his lecture to the dog was intended 
to have its influence upon the boA's or their parents. 

" It seems strange they do not shut up that liquor-shop at 
the tavern," said m}' mother. 

" Well, you see the man that keeps it has got mone}', and 
is a strong politician, and lots of fellows vote just as he sa3's, 
and his party don't want to trouble him for fear he would 
jine t'other side with all his votes. Then it isn't an3'body's 
business in particular, and so everj'body thinks somebody 
else ought to attend to it, and so it goes." 

Clarence changed the conversation by asking how much 
seed-corn would be needed to plant the three acres. 

" Well," said Jake, " 3'ou might as well shell three pecks 
or a bushel, though it won't take quite so much as that, may- 
be. Depends something how many kernels j'ou put in the 
hill. I should put in five or six, and when it comes up, if 



54 now WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

'twas too thick pull up one or two when I hoed it. I believe 
in having seed enough, and 1 hate to see places where there 
isn't anything growing, when it is manured as you manure 
your field. It 'pears to me like spreading a good dinner and 
not having folks to eat it, and so letting it go to waste. If 
you didn't put on more than Deacon Whiting does where he 
plants, it would do as well if more than half of it didn't 
come up. He puts about three loads to the acre, and then 
finds fault wilh the weather because the corn don't grow. 
Plants about twenty acres, and don't have corn enough to fiit 
any critters decently. He wanted I should come to help him 
plant this week, but he treats a man that works for him just 
as he does his fields, and his critters, too, for that matter : 
gives them just as little as he dares to to feed on, and then 
gets all he can out of them ; don't make a big bargain out of 
the fields and the critter at that, for 'tis plaguey little he 
gets, and he wouldn't get no great out of me, neither, if I 
was to work for him all the time. I told him one day at the 
store that there was more wasted on his farm than on any 
other two in Brookfield. You ought to have seen him stare at 
me. lie wanted to know how that was, and I told him he 
wasted half his feed, for if he kept only one yoke of oxen 
instead of three, and three cows instead of a dozen, and gave 
them enough to eat, it would not take more than half as much 
to feed them as it did to feed the great drove he kept now, and 
he would get more milk and more work than he did now, and 
then he wasted half his work and more two, 'cause if he had 
manured a little field decently he could 'a raised as much on 
it as he did on the big lot he planted, without workin' half so 
much to take care of it. I tell you he was mad, and if he 
hadn't been a deacon, I expect I should have got a cussin', 
but all he said was. that ' I didn't know how hard farmers 
had to work when I was shackin' round in the woods ; ' just 
as if he thought it was nothing but fun to tote a gun all day 
thi-ou'^h the woods and briers. I shouldn't have said what I 



HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARl^L 55 

did, only I was thinking of the day before, when he wanted 
me to help him push a cord and a half of wood up the hill, 
that his three yoke of cattle had got stuck with. I helped 
him, of course, for I pitied the poor, hungrj'-looking critters ; 
but if I had had him hitched to the cart tongue, I should 
have tried if a whip wouldn't have made him pull it. Last 
time I worked for him the dog didn't have a mouthful of din- 
ner, but he and I went home to supper and I made it up to 
him. If a man can't feed my dog, I don't ask him to feed 
me, anywa}'." ' 

And Jake shoved back from the table and began to cut 
tobacco for his pipe as savagely as if he were punishing the 
deacon for his neglect of the dog's wants. Luckily for my 
peace of mind, I knew that Rover had alwa^'S been liberally 
fed when Jake had worked at our house, for my mother 
would not have allowed any animal to be hungrj^ while she 
had plenty, however strong might be her prejudice against a 
poor man keeping a dog. But Jake's dog was looked upon 
more favorabl}' than other dogs by her, for she knew that he 
contributed to the support of his master in hunting far more 
than the value of his feed. And it was Jake's only compan- 
ion, and, as I heard him say once, " more compan}' and bet- 
ter company for him than a lazy wife or sauc}^ children." 
But when he said this he was returning from a call upon one 
of his friends, who was reputed to possess both those en- 
cumbrances ; and Jake had gone there to help about some 
little job, and perhaps he had not received a very cordial re- 
ception from the wife. Jake never forgot a kindness nor for- 
gave an insult. But the pipe was filled and lighted, and, un- 
der its soothing influence, he began again. 

" What have you planted in the garden, Clarence ? I see 
j'ou had got part of it under way." 

" I have put in some peas, two rows, and some sweet corn ; 
that is all. The squire said when I was over last, that next 
time I came he would give me some currant bushes and 



56 HOW WTE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

blackberries and gooseberr}' bushes that he was going to thin 
out of his, and perhaps some strawberry vines, and I want 
to put tlicni in first and then see what room I have left. 
Shall have to plant more peas and two or three plantings of 
corn so as to have it green all summer, and then beans and 
cucumbers and such things. I don't remember what we used 
to plant first, and I meant to have asked you about it." 

" I reckon j^ou want to put in a few onions and beets and 
parsnips, don't 3'ou ?" 

"Yes, I shall want them and a few cabbages, too ; but I 
haven't got the seed yet, and I didn't know if it was time to 
put them in, and I thought I would go down to the Corners 
some da}' when not too bus}' and buy some papers of such 
seed as I wanted." 

" Now, don't you do that," said Jake ; " but j'ou just write 
to some of those seed fellows in Boston and tell them what 
3'ou want, and send your monc}' in the letter, enough to pay 
for them, and you will get 3'our seeds a good deal cheaper, 
and better seeds, too, I allow, for I don't think no great of 
those little papers of seeds. Half the time the}' don't come 
up at all, whatever 's the reason for it. You can find the 
names of some of those chaps in your papers, most likel}', 
and I will take 3'our letter down to the Corners and give it 
to the stage-driver to-night, and you will get 3'our seeds 
to-morrow night, and your change back." 

So the address was found in the paper, and the order was 
written, Jake suggesting tlie amount, as a quarter pound of 
onion seed, same of beet-seed, cabbage, and parsnip, and 
mother furnished a five-dollar bill on the assurance of Jake 
that the right change would come back, and Jake departed 
for the Corners, and the bo3"s and I went to shelling corn for 
planting, selecting onl}' the handsomest ears and rejecting 
the kernels at each end of the ear, which Clarence said was 
alwa3's done. Next morning Jake came back commissioned 
to find out the price of the pigs and when thc3- would be 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEINI. 57 

ready to take away, as lots of fellows wanted to know. 
They were six weeks old a few da3's before, and Clarence 
was thinking that it was time to sell them, but no one had 
engaged an}' 3'et ; but in consequence of Jake's endeavors I 
will now sa}' that the}' were all sold in a few days at four 
dollars each. You can perhaps imagine how proud Clarence 
was when he placed sixty dollars in mother's hands, from 
which he was to take only the twenty-five to pa}' the squire 
for the hogs. That day was spent in drawing out manure 
upon the garden lot and the proposed cornfield. To make a 
finish of the garden, the drills for the peas were opened and 
the manure spread in them and covered with an inch or two 
of earth, upon which the peas were to be planted when it was 
time. On the side where the berries were to be put, about 
half an acre was left without manure, as Jake said Avhat we 
put there would not bear that year, and as the ground was 
pretty rich, it would do best to manure them in the fall, 
which would make them bear next year. Of course, if 
manure had been more plenty they would not have been hurt 
by it ; but manure could not be used where there would not 
be early return for it. 

The next day was Saturday, and as the seeds came in the 
morning when Jake came, Xed and I were promised plenty 
of work. We raked the beds for the small seeds until they 
were so fine that we could get them no finer ; and Jake and 
Clarence sowed them, even Jake being astonished at the quan- 
tity of ground it took to plant that amount of seeds upon, so 
much that I mistrusted he had not been much wiser than we 
were about the quantity we ought to have bought, "But, 
anyway," he said, "they are things that will sell if you have 
too many of them, and selling is what you want to be doing, 
I reckon. Some folks make a living just raisin' garden stuff 
to sell, and I have no doubt you could sell lots of it in 
Blackington, if it was only a little less work to get it there." 



58 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FAEM. 



CHAPTER IX. 

The next week the corn was finished, and the third calf 
was changed at the squire's, the money to pay for the pigs 
having been carried over to the squire's at' tlie same time. 
Wlieu Clarence came back he brouglit a load of currant and 
gooseberry bushes, and blackberry and raspberry- bushes, and 
strawberry vines, and even a few quince roots to be set at the 
lower end of the garden lot, all of which the squire had given 
him, which not only filled all the space which had been left 
for them, but encroached upon the rest of the garden. INIan}^ 
of the strawberry vines were set among the other stuff that 
was planted, avoiding carefull}' the hills where the other 
things were. As Jake said, " They wouldn't do anj' more 
hurt than so manj' weeds, and if folks hoe among stuff and 
don't kill weeds, I guess you can hoe 3'our stuff and not kill 
the vines ; and though I wouldn't give a cent for an}' of them 
but the currants, which are might}' good and wholesome, 
'cause I can find blackberries enough in the woods, and the 
strawberries, too, though I don't think no great of them, but 
had rather have huckleberries ; yet I know women mostly likes 
them, and if Miss Alice don't eat them all up the}' will sell 
fast enough." 

But Clarence had another strange story to tell. The squire 
had advised him not to pay the money for the pigs, but to 
take it and enough more of the pig-money and buy a ton of 
some patent fertilizer, a sort of superphosphate that he had 
tried and liked, and plough up the fore-acre lot back of the barn, 
which didn't bear much grass and put corn on half of it — not 
field-corn such as he had been planting, but corn sowed in 
rows about as thick as it could grow, for the sake of the fod- 
der, which, the squire said, could be fed to the cows green 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 59 

when the pasture got i30or, or kept to cure and feed during 
the winter, if it wus not needed before. And, then, in June, 
ruta-baga turnips could be put on about another acre, and 
some of them could be sold for a good price in Blackington, 
no doubt, while what were not sold, would be the best possi- 
ble feed for the cows and calves and sheep during the winter. 
And having learned the amount of cabbage-seed that had been 
sowed in the garden, he advised also setting cabbages, as far 
as he had plants for, at the lower end of it ; while the turnips, 
being sowed last, would fill the space between the corn and 
cabbage. It seemed like a desperate venture to m^'- mother 
to pay fiftj'-five dollars for manure for the sake of raising 
crops of which she knew notliing ; but Clarence was mannger 
now, she said, and if he and the squire thought best, and he 
thought he could take care of so much, she had no objections 
to make. He had had such good luck with his pigs and was 
doing so well with his chickens, that she felt as if the money 
was his. And Clarence sent for the manure and the turnip- 
seed and began ploughing the field. He also decided not to 
fatten his old hogs that summer, but to raise more pigs in the 
fall. And so the work went bravely on. 

I have lingered over the tale of these earl}' daj's, for 
they are vividly impressed upon m^' mind. I was so 
deepl}' interested in every move that was made, and so proud 
of all that promised to be successful about them, that I 
think I shall never forget any of them, and, girl thougii I 
was, I was glad to help about them. When at home from 
school, morning or evening or on a holiday, I was sure to be 
out at work with mj^ brothers, if I was not absolutely needed 
in the house, and if I had any duties in the house I hurried to 
perform them, that I might get out. Eliza Giles had made 
one or two calls upon mother to obtain information about her 
work, which she found a little difficult, especially the making 
of garments for herself and the children and shirts for Bill, he 
having obtained a steadj' job at his trade, by which he was 



60 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

able again to purchase material for her to work upon ; and 
as she had learned to sew a seam decently, they were better 
clad than when I first made their acquaintance, and if she 
still kept her cheap jewelry she did not wear it when she came 
to see mother. Bill was at home a few da^ys in July and 
came up to see if he could be of any assistance. Clarence 
was haying then, with Jake to help him. Bill could not handle 
a scj-the, but he could help take care of the ha}-, and he also 
found time to trim the old apple trees around the house. Jake's 
assistance had not been needed between the time of the corn 
planting and setting out the small fruits until ha3ing. The 
boys had done the hoeing alone, or rather with the help of the 
horse, for Clarence went over it all with the horse and plough 
nearly once a week, which made the labor of hand-hoeing very 
light. The cabbages the boys had transplanted at odd jobs 
in rainy days and at morning and evening when it did not 
seem too hot for them to live, and if I was as astonished at 
the ground which it took to plant the seed on, I was more so 
at the number of plants which they produced. There was 
over an acre of them, numbering more than five thousand plants. 
There was also a little more th-an an acre of turnips, and the 
rest in sowed corn. The fourth and last calf had come 
and been changed in June, and the four calves and two lambs 
were doing finely. They had long since learned to drink their 
milk without warming much, and. the three oldest would not 
refuse it even if slightly sour. We had four cows to make 
butter from, and were making a fine lot of it, which was 
readil}' purchased at the store at the Corners for twent^'-five 
cents a pound, and after the heifer calved, which was early in 
June (the calf which we got for hers was a week old, and 
was put on skimmed milk the third day after we got it home), 
we made about forty pounds a week. But we had good cows, 
and they had good feed and good care. The hens had laid 
eggs enough to keep us in our little suppl}' of flour and sugar 
and molasses and tea, which was about all we needed at the 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 61 

store, and mother rejoiced at the rapidity with which the bal 
ance to her credit was gaining at the store. It ahuost recon- 
ciled her to spending of the mone}^ which liad been taken for 
the superphosphate. But in June an event happened which 
gave us all much pleasure. One day a man knocked at the 
door and inquired if Mrs. Reynolds lived there. Being in- 
formed that that was the place and the person, he said, — 

" M}' business is buying up live fowls and chickens, which I 
dress and send to Boston, and Bill Giles told me he thought I 
could get some here." 

" You can see mj- son ; he is in that field hoeing and he 
has charge of the fowl," said mother. 

"We soon saw Clarence going to the hen-house with him, and, 
after a short time, they came down loaded with chickens, which 
were weighed and put in the wagon, and Clarence came in 
with a handful of mone}^, which he put in mother's lap, saj^- 

i"g, — 

" He bought fift}- of the largest chickens at a dollar 
apiece, and paid for them, and he is coming every week or 
two after more, and will pay all they are worth, he says. Just 
think of that ! and I have got now over four hundred left. I 
shall not sell any more of m}- early pullets, as the price will 
soon be down, and I mean to keep about a hundred here next 
winter, and as many at the old hen-house as we had there 
last winter, and shall sell off the old hens down there. The 
man says the time to sell the old hens will be when they lay 
their litters out and want to sit again. Then they will be fat 
and heavy." 

" Do as you think best about it, my son, for I begin to 
think 3'ou know better than I do. But I would like to have 
you go over now and pay the squire for his hogs, and have 
that settled," which was done one evening after work, for the 
da}' time was precious. 

The haying was finished earl}' in July and the hoeing and 
weeding took up much time after that. It seemed tome that 



62 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

I never saw things grow so rapidly. The little garden had 
yielded bountifully, giving peas and beans and corn and other 
vegetables, some of which appeared on our table every day, 
to the manifest saving of flour and meat, and we had also 
been able to contribute from our abundance to the tables of 
Mrs. Giles and other neighbors, who had not such gardens as 
we had, though many of them might have had if they would 
have planted it, but they had not time or manure to spare 
from the corn and potatoes. Clarence said that he had little 
relish for giving to such people ; but we had a plenty, and 
there was no sale for it unless it was carried to Blackington, 
and we thought the time to go there and sell it was worth as 
much as it would sell for. The man who bought the chickens 
did bu}- some things from the garden almost ever}- time he 
came round, to take home for his own use, pa3'ing for it the 
prices which he said he would have had to pay at home, which 
made Clarence think tliat it might be well to plant more such 
garden stuff" another year and try to sell it himself in Black- 
ington. 

Perhaps you have wondered ere this if we had no neighbors 
but Jake and the Giles family. Indeed, we had plent}', and 
some of them ver}' kind, too, but tlius far they had nothing 
to do with my stor}', and I have preferred to pi'esent only 
those who were absolutely necessary' to a fair relation of the 
events which so closel}' followed one another in this, to us at 
least, eventful year. Our nearest neighbor was also our rela- 
tive, — Uncle Thomas Reynolds ; but we saw but little of him, 
and heard but little from him when we saw him, or when we 
did not. He was one of those unfortunate men, who are, I 
believe, most rare among New England farmers, a hen-pecked 
husband, whose greatest misfortune was having a very smart 
Avife. He had a better farm than ours, or at least better land 
and better buildings, which had not been built near as long as 
ours, and he worked hard all sunniier cultivating his land, 
much in the same wav that our father had cultivated his 



HOW ^VE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 63 

farm while living, — making a little manure go a great wa3-s and 
a great deal of work produce onl}' small crops. In the winter 
he made a few boots for Blackington people and done little 
jobs at cobbling for the neighbors, working early and late at 
all seasons, but in the slow, spiritless manner of a tired and 
discouraged man. His wife was a very prudent, saving sort 
of woman, who worked hard herself, as it would seem, from 
sheer restlessness and inability to keep still, and drove ever}- 
one else to work too, with a merciless energy that knew no 
tiring. But with all this they were not prosperous. There 
was alwa^'s an unbalanced account at the store, and the mort- 
age upon the farm, which had been put on when the buildings 
were built, was no smaller than it had been ten years ago ; 
na}', it was larger, for the interest had not been paid for some 
years. It was a rayster^^ to many people why Uncle Thomas 
did not get along better, as busil}' as he worked, and as pru- 
dent, yes more than prudent, stingy as was his wife. It was 
many 3-ears before I knew whj' it was ; but I may as well tell 
it now. It was not owing to his bad habits, for he had none, 
unless the indulgence in very small crumbs of tobacco daily 
could be counted as such ; nor was it mismanagement of the 
farm on his part, or household extravagance on hers (that could 
never be charged upon her) , and many who managed their 
farms no better than Uncle Thomas still accumulated slowl}'. 
But every cent of mone}' that Aunt Cynthia could get hold of 
(and she managed to get hold of many during the year) 
was carefully hoarded and was never seen again in that house- 
hold. She was actually' robbing her husband, keeping him at 
work under a load of debt all the time and denying herself 
and the famil}- all the comforts of life, for the sake of hoard- 
ing awa}^ mone^'. 

I think Uncle Thomas never knew how it was, or realized 
what a leak it made in his income, though he might have 
had an idea that C^'nthia had an hundred dollars or so 
slowed away. Whether he would have been more than 



64 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 

astonished, — whether he would have dared to assert his 
rights if he had known what we learned after his death, that, 
during the time when he was struggling to support his fani- 
il}', and bearing the misery of a debt which he saw no means 
of discharging, she had managed to hoard up over two thou- 
sand dollars, a sum which would have seemed like a fortune 
to him, — I know not, nor can any one. Now, do not think 
this is a fancj'-sketch, or an exaggeration, for I have heard 
the woman who did this, boast after her husband's death, 
of the mone}'' she put away, which he knew nothing about, 
and tell how she managed to do it. Nor was it from any 
cause but the simple love of hoarding, for after his death 
ever}' debt was scrupulouly paid, no one being wronged by 
her but her husband, who was robbed, not of money alone, 
but of the rest, the freedom from care, and the home com- 
forts which would have made easy the remnant of his worn- 
out life, wasted in trying to fill the bottomless pit of a 
heartless woman's avarice. 

They had three children, as did my father, two boys and 
a girl, although much older than m}' brothers and m^'self. 
The oldest son, Thomas, Jr., had run awaj' from home at 
sixteen, and gone to sea. For a few j-ears letters used to 
come from him to an old school-mate, which always con- 
tained some message for his father, and sometimes small 
remittances of money, but for ten j-ears nothing had been 
heard from him. The daughter was next, and she had mar- 
ried young, luckily getting a smart 3'oung man of good 
habits, and one who obtained good pay, which was spent as 
fast as earned, for she was as eager for luxiuy and show as 
her mother was adverse to it. 

I think her mother mourned over this more than she did 
over the youngest son, who, from a smart, clever boy, had 
sunk to an idle, drunken vagabond, working only enough to 
suppl}' his hunger and thirst. With Uncle Thomas and 
Aunt Cynthia we had never been intimate, and we were not 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 65 

likely to be now, though there never had been anj' quarrel ; 
but my mother despised Aunt Cj'nthia, and despised Uncle 
Thomas for being under her dominion. She had called 
upon us just after Clarence bought the superpliosphate, on 
purpose, it seemed to me, to denounce such extravagance, 
and predict that we should end in the poor-house, an inter- 
ference that my mother resented as much as (perhaps more) 
than if the buying of the manure had been her plan instead 
of Clarence's. It is the way with some women, that when 
they have 3'ielded their judgment to that of husband or son, 
they cannot bear to hear any one else question the wisdom 
of that judgment. From opponents they become earnest 
champions. It ma}* be so with some men, but I never 
noticed it in them. 

Not far below them lived a curious family, consisting of 
an old lady about eighty years of age, Mrs. Butts, and her 
two daughters of about sixty years of age and unmarried, of 
whom the mother always spoke as if they were " nothing but 
flighty 3'oung gals," and with whom and at whom she 
jested about the beaux who came or did not come to see 
them, — jests not alwa3's refined, but yet not actually vulgar ; 
at least in my hearing. There was no man upon the 
place, which was but a small one, with a little, tumbledown 
house upon it so ancient that it looked as if it must have 
been, as it was said to be, the oldest house in Brookfield. 

They had each one a little money saved, a few hundred 
dollars, ver}' few, and they calculated that the interest and 
the principal at the rate which it cost them to live, would be 
enough to keep them until they were an hundred years old, 
and so thej sat knitting by the fire-place — they could never 
be persuaded to have a stove in the house — as coseyly and 
comfortable as if they were above all fear of want and sick- 
ness. The old lad}- kept a cow and a dozen or so of hens all 
the time, and fatted a pig every season, the daughters 
taking the care of them in consideration of stipulated 



66 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

amounts of milk, eggs, and pork, for, strange as it may seem, 
although all lived in one room and all cooked by the same fire, 
each one kept her own provisions and cooked and ate as sepa- 
rately as if in different houses ; social and neighborly to- 
gether alwaj's, but independent of each other as much as can 
be among neighbors. The cost of keeping the fire, of plant- 
ing the little garden, and even the labor of taking care of the 
rooms which they occupied, was divided upon equitable 
l^rinciples and rules, which were never deviated from. 

I used to enjoy going in there and listening to their talk and 
looking at the old-fashioned things with which the house was 
furnished. I even sta3'ed there to take tea with them, and, as 
my visit was paid to them all, I had to eat with each one : a 
bit from this one's bread, and then another from each of the 
others ; a small bit of cake and a small wedge of pie from 
each corner of the table — for we all ate at one table — was 
passed to me, and I was invited to decide which was best, a 
matter in which I could not venture an opinion, luckily for 
me, if I desired to stand well in the good graces of all three. 
They eked out their slender income b}' their knitting, which 
they were alwaj's doing, and b}' occasiouall}' taking in for 
the night some tin peddler or other traveller, who preferred 
their humble accommodations to the more expensive, but 
scarcely- more palatable fare to be found at the hotel. This 
was the exclusive perquisite of the old lady, who never 
turned awa}^ one who applied, onl^- stipulating, if he had a 
horse, that he must take care of him himself. Upon such 
occasions she and her guest ate at one table and the girls at 
another. 

These people have little to do with mj' story, but they 
bold a large place" in m^^ memory of ray girlhood days, and 
I introduce them to 3'ou as people whom you maj- like to 
know about, if not to know intimately. Beyond their house 
was a strip of wood, and in the clearing beyond was the 
town almshouse, where old Tom Hardy had been keeper for 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 67 

many years, for although a few, like my Aunt C3'nthia, 
grumbled because the paupers were allowed to live so well, 
3-et the majority were pleased to know that they had good 
food and good care, and were satisfied with the way in 
which the farm belonging to the town was managed b}' him, 
which, indeed, was so prudently done that but little money 
was needed "for the support of town's poor" at each town 
meeting. Uncle Tom, as ever3-body called him, was another 
odd character. Small in size and quick in his motions, his 
tongue would outrun any woman's in the town, and 3'et he 
never stopped work to talk, nor stopped talking to work. 

If an3' one met him on the road. Uncle Tom would begin 
conversation as soon as the3- came within hailing distance 
and keep it up until they got out of sight and hearing. He 
talked to the inmates of his boarding-house, as he called it ; 
he talked to the horse and oxen, and I think, even to the 
cart and plough. He could scold, too, and did scold, though 
the funn3' twinkle of his e3'es under their shagg3' brows gave 
the lie to his professions of anger. His wife was as differ- 
ent from him as could be, — fat, heav3', slow-motioned, 
though making everv' step count so well that she did as much 
work as more bustling women. Speaking seldom, and in a 
moderate wa3' that was almost a drawl, with no stronger ex- 
pression of anger than " Now, Thomas," she yet ruled with 
a firmer hand indoors than Uncle Tom did out of doors, and 
yet those under her charge felt both respect and love for 
" Mother Hard3-, "as the3^ all called her, though most of them 
were old enough to be mother to her. 

Uncle Tom alwa3-s went to church ever3^ Sabbath, morn- 
ing, where he regularl3'^ slept through the morning services, 
as I thought, because he could not bear to hear another man 
talk when he could not, or perhaps the unusual silence of his 
tongue acted as a soporific. His wife came in the afternoon, 
and sat bolt upright and wide awake, as if to make up for 
Uncle Tom's sleepiness. We saw but little of them, for he 



68 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

only left the farm for church or business, she only for church ; 
but he came up and bought four of Clarence's pigs one day, 
His first salutation as he drove into the j'ard was, — 

" AVell, widder Reynolds, I thought I would come up and 
see if you wasn't coming down to board with me afore long. 
Yer sister Cj'nthia said as how she reckoned 3'ou'd have to 
pretty soon, but I don't see any signs of yer gettin' ready 
this summer, in the way things look around here. AVhcre's 
the boy? I want to look at some of them pigs of his'n, and 
if they are as good as Jake tells for, I maybe will take some of 
them out of the way so as to save ^'ou from havin' to feed 
so man}-. Pesk}' handsome calves them j^ou has under the 
apple trees, and them little lambs, too ; reckon them come 
from the squire's. See you have got a swad of chickens up 
on the hill, and I guess them pa}', too. Shouldn't wonder if 
3'ou made a pretty good thing this 3'ear, from what I hear 
and see, and I am glad of it. Here comes the boy, and now 
I'll look at them pigs of yourn, 5'oung sir. Come down to 
see us some day, ma'am, the old woman '11 be proper glad to 
see 3-ou if I tell her 3'ou ain't coming to board with us, and 
3'ou can look around and see what 3'ou think of our accom- 
modations," and he was off' to the piggery talking to Clar- 
ence all the time without giving him any more chance to 
reply than he had my mother, and when he drove off" he was 
still talking to Clarence and the hogs and horse alternately, 
until he was out of hearing. 

Do not imagine, that, if there had seemed any danger of 
our having to go to the almshouse that Uncle Tom would 
have hinted at it until it became a necessit}', but as long as 
we appeared to be prospering, it was to him an excellant 
joke. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 69 



CHAPTER X. 

When the haying was finished and the hoeing going on, 
the squire and Aunt Matilda drove over one afternoon, and 
the squire and Clarence spent some time walking over the 
farm. Before they went out mother expressed a hope that 
the squire would not urge Clarence into anj^ more experi- 
ments until he was better able to carry them out ; but she 
could obtain only a promise not to recommend anj'thing 
which he did not think would pay well. He was much 
pleased with the result of his previous advice in regard to 
the field of corn-fodder, turnips, and cabbages, and said 
Clarence would make an hundred dollars on that field after 
paying for labor and manure. The hen-house and the barn 
were carefully examined, as he had never seen the former ; 
and, in fact, all the details of the farming w^ere inspected. 

When the}^ returned, he expressed himself as more than 
satisfied with the work that had been done, and said that he 
had planned a few more improvements which would prove 
paying investments, and would not cost much besides the 
labor, not more than Clarence's pig and chicken mone}', now 
amounting to more than an hundred dollars, would yiay. I 
think mother would have scarcely agreed to the spending of 
even that if it had not been for the recollection of the butter 
money at the store, which was also quite a sum, more than 
suflScient for the pa^'ment of interest and taxes. As it was 
she gave her consent, sa3'ing that Clarence had done well so 
far under the squire's advice, and she should let them do as 
they pleased, only she hoped they would be careful. 

As a result, Clarence was soon engaged in drawing home 
boards from the sawmill, selecting such as he wanted for his 
work, most of them being left in the field between the corn 



70 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAKM. 

and potatoes. Then, as it was veiy dry weather, a deep fur- 
row was ploughed through the lowest part of the grass-land, 
running several times along in the furrow to get as deep as 
possible. Then Jake and an Irishman, one Mike Murphy, 
came on and began to ditch along the line of the furrow, dig- 
ging about three feet deep, and a little more than a foot 
wide, and going to hard-pan, as they call it, all of the way. 
This main ditch ran from the road down to the pond, and 
several short ditches branched from it into the wettest places 
in the meadow. 

"While they were digging, Clarence made V-shaped troughs, 
which he put into the bottom of the ditches, and covered with 
other boards. Not much pains was taken with making or 
la3'ing the troughs, excepting to see that the}' were put with 
the tight edge at the bottom, and that they were so put that 
it was down hill all the way from road to pond. 

When all were laid, stones were put in them of such size as 
to leave a few inches of space in the troughs under the stones, 
which also stuck up above the troughs a little wa}'. Upon 
these, covering-boards, a little wider than the top of the 
troughs, were laid to keep the dirt out of the troughs, while 
the water could easily find its way among the stones and 
along the troughs. Then the dirt was filled in again upon 
these boards, and the sods carefully replaced, but to make 
sure of grass, where the sods were broken, a few jDOunds of 
grass-seed were sown along the ditches. 

Then Clarence and Mike went to drawing mud from the pond, 
which was unusually low at that time, owing to the owner 
of the mill below repairing something, which made it neces- 
sary^ for them to let the water out of the pond for that pur- 
pose. Some fifty loads were put into the barn-j-ard, and ten 
into the hog-j-ard ; and the rest, about five hundred more, 
being put in heaps in the pasture near where it was drawn 
out. It was a large amount, but Clarence said it would keep 
growing better for use by being exposed to the weather for 



HOAV WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 71 

some years, and he did not know when the pond would be 
so low again to give him so good a chance. The eight-acre 
field, from which the r3'e had been taken, was also ploughed 
again, the rj-e, stubble, and weeds being turned under, and we 
were surprised to see two tons of phosphate arrive which was 
to be put on there. Clarence explained b}' sa3'ing that the 
squire had offered to find the phosphate, and take the r^^e- 
straw or the money in payment for it, just as Clarence might 
choose, which would give him the rye for his labor and get the 
field into grass at the same time. 

By this time the harvesting was nearly ready to commence 
upon. One evening Jake came in, and after the customary 
salutations he said, — 

" I'm afraid. Master Clarence, I shan't be able to help you 
dig those pertaters, as I wanted to. I really wanted to see 
them turn out, but I have struck a new job that I calculate 
will last me tvro or three weeks." 

We looked up in surprise at the idea of Jake sticking to 
one job so long as that, and Clarence asked, " What is it? " 

" Well, I will tell you all about it, but I must begin at the 
beginning. You see Rover and I had been out hunting the 
other day, and when I was coming back I stopped at the tav- 
ern. When I went in I saw a woman and a little gal on the 
piazza, she sewing, and the little one at play. Well, when 
I came out I stopped a minute, and the little one came up to 
me and began to talk to me, and I was answering her ques- 
tions, when the woman called her back. Perhaps she thought 
the child bothered me, but it didn't, for I like little gals 
till they begin to get their heads full of nonsense about beaus 
and sich things, or may be she thought I was too rough-look- 
ing like for the little gal to speak to ; but I straightened up 
and took off my hat, and I says to her, ' Suffer little children 
to come unto me and forbid them not.' [You may think, 
reader of these pages, that this sounded irreverent, but if 
you could have seen and heard Jake as he uttered them, you 



72 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

would have known that he loved little children with a love 
that could have been surpassed onl}' b}- the love of Ilim who 
first uttered those words, and that he spoke them without 
any thought of irreverence, but with deeper reverence than 
that of many who quote the words of that Great Book oftener 
than he did. Nor was there thought of comparison of him- 
self and the Author of those words, other than the comparison 
of that love which was common to both.] And then I heard 
somebod}' laughing, and two or three men came out of the 
parlor just back of me, and one of them, which was the little 
gal's father, called her to him, and seein' the gun and the 
game-bag, begun to ask about the huntin' and fishing, and 
finally said that he and his brother and his wife's brother, 
who were with him, had come down on purpose to hunt and 
fish, and they wanted to hire me to show them around to the 
best places that I knew of, and they would give me a dollar 
apiece ever}' da}', and I might have all I got mj'self besides ; 
and so I'm going with them, which is a pretty good job for 
old Jake." 

"I am glad that j'ou are so lucky," said Clarence, "and 
if I need help I can get Mike a few days again, I think." 

" Well, then, half my errand is disposed of, and now for the 
rest of it. You see, ma'am, where we stopped for a lunch to- 
da}' the men were saying that they didn't like the tavern very 
well. It is kinder lonesome like for the woman when they are 
off in the woods, 'cause there ain't an}' women folks there, only 
Mrs. Gannett and the gals in the kitchen, and I guess if she 
went there and sot down while they were cooking she 
wouldn't have much relish for her dinner when it was ready. 
And, then, sometimes, there is a gang of rather rough men 
around there, and I allow she don't like that, and so they 
wanted to know if I couldn't find them a chance to stay at 
some farm-house two or three weeks ; and I told them I didn't 
know, but I would see what I could do, and let them know 
to-morrow, for I thought of you, and I knew you had room 



HOW VTB sa\t:d the old farm. 73 

enough, and that if an}- place could suit them around herej-ou 
could ; and the}' pa}' five dollars a day at the tavern for four 
of them and the two children (one of them a baby about two 
3'ears old) and the}' said that they would be glad to pay the 
same or more if necessary at some private house." 

And Jake wiped the perspiration from his brow in a way 
that showed plainly that he had dreaded proposing such a 
thing to my mother. It was then looked upon in Brookficld 
as something of a come-down for a farmer's wife to take 
boarders (unless it was the district school-teacher), a gi-eater 
departure from a life of independence than letting her daugh- 
ters go out to do housework in some nice family, which was 
quite a matter of course when there were more girls than were 
needed to assist their mother about household labors. Already 
Clarence began to object. 

" Mother does not need to take any boarders, Jake ; she 
has enough to do already, and I shall make enough to sup- 
port us without her doing any more than she does now." 

" Wait a moment, my son," said mother ; " I would like to 
accommodate your acquaintances, Jacob, but I am afraid 
that I should not have things nice enough to suit them. AVe 
live in a plain style to what they are used to, I suppose." 

" If style was what they wanted, ma'am, they might have 
stayed at home ; what they want is just to have things clean 
and wholesome, which I know they always are here, and that 
the woman should have a quiet place to stay when the}' are 
out with me, and a body to speak a civil word to once in a 
while when she feels like it. And they are quiet, decent sort 
of folks ; don't drink, though two of them smoke, and maybe 
the smell of their good cigars would put you out of the con- 
ceit of Jake's old pipe. But if you won't take them in, I 
reckon they won't stay long, and so I shall lose my job," and 
having put it on that ground of a personal favor to himself, 
he seemed to be willing to rest his case there, at if he thought 
that would have more influence than the promise of money. 



74 HOW WE SA^^i;D the old farm. 

And perhaps it had, for we felt indebted to Jake for past 
kindness, and he knew that he had offered us this, because he 
thought it would prove a welcome addition to our income, as 
indeed it would be. Clarence was about to make further ob- 
jections, but my mother silenced him with a motion of her 
hand, and said, — 

" Well, Jacob, if ^-ou think they could be satisfied with our 
accommodations, I am willing to try what I can to suit them. 
I don't feel as if I ought to let such a chance to help a little 
pass b}' while the children are doing so much. I will try to 
get the rooms read^' to-morrow, and you may tell them they 
can come when thej' are ready after that." 

" Well, ma'am, j'ou have done me a favor, and it's a favor 
to them, too, and I hope what they pay will pay for your 
work as well as for the victuals," and having got the errand 
off his mind, Jake chatted a while about the crops and the 
calves and chickens, and then took his departure. 

In the morning we began in good season to prepare for our 
boarders, b}- getting the " best room" in order, swept and 
dusted, and with clean curtains, before going upstairs to 
worlv in the chambers ; and it was well that we did, for we 
had scarceh' begun when Jake came again and announced that 
the people were on the way. 

" Yer see, there was a rather noisy time at the tavern last 
night, and this morning the lady got up and said she would 
not sta}' there another night, for she couldn't sleep nor the 
children neither, and if I hadn'nt got there about as early as 
1 did, I don't know but the^' would have stai-ted for home 
afore this time ; but when I said j^ou had decided to take 
them, she said she was coming right down here, and if you 
would not take her now, she would wait under the apple-tree 
until 3'ou was ready for them ; and so I said I would come on 
ahead and let you know just how it was, and I guessed you 
would let them in if it did put you out a little. So thej' will 
be here in a few minutes, and when the woman and babies 



HOW VTE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 75 

are inside I'll take the men oflf into the woods, and the}- shan't 
bother you before supper-time, I'll warrant, for I'll take them 
down to Black Brook to-day." 

It was no small inconvenience to my mother to have them 
come that morning, when she had to get the chambers ready 
and cook the dinner, without more notice, but all she said 
was, "Just like a man ; you think I can get ready for any- 
thing as eas3' as jon can get ready to go gunning." But soon 
the wagon from the tavern was at the door and unloaded 
three men, a lad}', and two children, and their baggage. 
One of the men advanced and introduced himself as Mr. 
Ralph Benson, and his wife as Mrs. Benson ; he apologized 
handsomely for coming before the time appointed, and giving 
the same reason that Jake had given, expressed a hope that 
she would not refuse to admit them. 

Of course my mother said that it made no difference to her, 
but that they must excuse whatever was not in readiness for 
them, and all that was not as fine as the}- were used to ; but 
a few words from Mrs. Benson quickly placed her at ease. 
Then the other two gentlemen were brought forward and in- 
troduced as Mr. George Benson and Mr. Henry Farnham, 
and the trunks were brought in, and Jake, according to prom- 
ise, hurried the gentlemen off into the fields, just calling out 
that they Avere not to be expected before night. 

Before they went Mr. Benson brought forward some par- 
tridges, the trophies of yesterday's hunting, which he requested 
my mother to be so kind as to cook, as they expected to have 
hunter's appetites at supper-time. And I may as well say 
now that the game and fish w-hich they brought in from their 
hunting was no small addition to our table while they were 
there, although they often sent off parcels of it as presents to 
friends in the city, for they were hunting, not as Jake did, for 
a li\'ing, but for pleasure and health. 

Allow me to describe our boarders, for the appearance of 
people is often to me an index to their character, sufficient 



76 now WE SA\TED THE OLD FAR^VI. 

to incline mc to like or dislike them. I took a, liking to them 
when they came forward, which I think was not all the result 
of fine clothing nor polite manners, nor even of that five (\o\- 
lars i^er day which was promised, though for the sake of that, 
I would have endured, if I had not liked much less agreeable 
persons. 

Mr. Benson was tall, dark-complexioned, with dark eyes 
and a black, silky beard, which he wore full around the 
mouth ; quick and i)leasant spoken, and with a free-and-easy 
wa}^ that showed he felt at home in an}' society, though then 
and ever afterwards as tenderly respectful to m}' mother and 
all of us as if we had been the proudest ladies in the land. 
In talking with Jake there was no appearance of superiority 
nor of condescension, which Jake would not have borne, lior 
j'et any attempt to patronize, but just such a wa}' as fell in 
with Jake's humor exactly', giving directions, as the man who 
employed another had a right to do, but with an air of yield- 
ing details to one who understood the matter in hand better 
than he did. And as he treated Jake, so he did every one 
with whom he dealt. He knew what he wanted done, but 
how best to do it was the business of the man who had the 
work to do. 

His wife was a contrast in looks, being small, slightly 
built, and light-haired, with blue eyes, and a complexion al- 
most too fair to be healtiiy. She was as perfectly ladjMike 
as he was gentleman-like, but she had not his power of mak- 
ing acquaintance rapidly, nor of adapting herself to the 
society of those she met that he had. Add to this a strong 
will, veiled under a gentle manner, and a quick temper, usu- 
all}' under perfect control, and 3'ou have Mrs. Benson. 

The oldest child, a girl of six j'ears, was not shy or re- 
served Avith strangers unless she happened to take a dislike to 
them, but she was apt to resent too rapid advances from 
those whom she did not know, and thus those who tried to 
"scrape acquaintance" with her seldom succeeded. She 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 77 

seemed almost wild at being in the countiy, and had exam- 
ined pigs, chickens, calves, and lambs before night, having 
first asked permission to visit them. She was perfectly fear- 
less, and yet cautious about venturing too far until she had 
assured herself of the lack of danger, or if there was dan- 
ger, of the best \Tay to face it. She had the fair complexion 
of her mother and the brown e^'es of her father. 

The baby was a pretty two-j'ear old bo}^ looking like his 
father, and with a most imperious will and temper of his 
own, which made him rather troublesome. 

George Benson was like his brother in looks but that he 
wore his beard only on his cheeks, in English fashion, and 
he was moderate in speecli, and seemed as if he seldom cared 
to talk for the sake of talking or of pleasing. Did not laugh 
as often or as heartily as his elder brother. 

Mrs. Benson's brother, Henry Farnham, was a quiet lad 
of about sixteen, who would rather have stayed in some cool 
place with a book in his hand than to have shot all the par- 
tridges or caught all the trout in Brookfield, 3'et it was he 
who usuall}' brought home the most game after the first week. 
The expedition to the woods had been undertaken mostly 
upon his account, as it was feared that too close confinement 
to his studies had injured his health. About the same age 
as Clarence, he overtopped him by a head, but m}' brother 
looked much the strongest, though he was not. Clarence 
might have endured the longest, for he had the muscles of a 
farmer, but Henry had the muscles of a trained gymnast. 

When the men had departed, mother and I Avere obliged to 
let Mrs. Benson entertain herself and the children in the 
parlor or out under the apple trees as best she might, while 
we made ready the dinner and the chambers, and we saw but 
little of her excepting when our duties called us into the 
room where she was, or she came to us to ask permission to 
go out and make the acquaintance of the animals and places 
out of doors. She spent much of the afternoon in the field 



78 now WE SAVED THE OLD F^VRM. 

where the boj-s were at work, and when they came up at 
night Clarence was talking to Mrs. Benson as quietly as if 
he had alwaj's known her, while little Jessie was seated on 
Ned's shoulder. 

Soon the hunters returned, and after supper Mr. Benson 
came out and asked permission to spend the evening in our 
sitting-room sa3'ing that it was more pleasant to them to do 
so than to stay in a room b}' themselves, adding, — 

" George is too lazy to talk to us and Henr}' too tired, 
or else he is looking for a book, while Jessie wants to be 
with the bo}- that owns those little lambs, so we may as well 
all come out." 

Having been welcomed, he continued : — 

"I consider that we are most fortunate, Mrs. Re^'nolds, 
in having fallen in with your friend, Jake. He is the best 
hunter and guide in these woods that I could have found, I 
think, for he knows every place to find the game, and the 
easiest wa^' to get to it, and the shortest wa}' home after we 
get through hunting ; and he knows all sorts of birds, if not 
every individual bird that we have seen ; can tell where 
they build and how, and all their habits ; and every tree and 
plant, and just what it is good for, and I know not how 
much more, besides being such an original character in his 
speech that I take more pleasure in hearing him talk than 
in hunting." 

" He is called a great hunter, I know," said mj- mother, 
" and ought to know the woods and all that is in them, for 
he has almost spent his life there." 

" But he seems to be a man of good sense and good judg- 
ment in other things, though not like a man who has learned 
by his reading." 

" But Jake is a great reader when at home," said Clarence ; 
" takes two or three newspapers, and has got a lot of queer 
books that nobod}' else ever reads, with all sorts of queer in- 
formation in them, besides old histories and such things, that 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 79 

he studies over and over again. He is just as odd in his 
reading as in ever)'thing else." 

" His way of talking is not like that of a great reader," 
said George Benson. 

" That is partly a matter of habit," said my mother, 
" and partl}^ from a dislike to the style of most book writers, 
for he would think it an expression of contempt to tell him 
that he talked ' like a book.' " 

" If what he knows about the woods and what is in them 
was put into a book it would make a very interesting one, 
and I would like to own it," said Henry 'Fai-nham. 

"I know I am under great obligations to him for finding 
us a boarding-place away from that miserable hotel," said 
Mrs. Benson. 

" I know I like him, and that's enough," said Jessie, with 
a grave nod, as if to say that that settled the matter, as in- 
deed it did so far as all further discussion of Jake for that 
night was concerned, for after a laugh at her grave assertion, 
the conversation changed. 

I think that in the course of the evening they managed to 
obtain from Clarence a clear statement of what he had done 
upon the farm, and some idea of what he intended to do. I 
remember a remark which Mr. Benson made during the even- 
ing, which made a deep impression on my mind, as it also 
did upon that of the others : "In the city we think, even 
those who are rich, that we cannot afford to keep property 
unless we expect to derive either pleasure or profit from it ; 
but the farmers here, many of them, keep propert}- from 
which the}^ derive no profit and no pleasure that I can under- 
stand ; paying taxes on land which produces nothing, and 
some of which only helps to hold the world together, and if 
the}'^ can get a dollar ahead, buying more land of the same 
sort, instead of tiying to make that better which they have, 
not noticing what I notice, that those who have small farms 
otten produce more than those who have large farms. All 



80 HOW WE sa^tj:d the old farm. 

the land that I have seen about here might be made to pro- 
duce four times as much as it does now, and some of that 
which now produces nothing is capable of being made as 
good as the best. If 30U make it your standard to bring all 
your farm up to the condition of the best, and the best up to 
four times its present producing power, 3'ou will not go far 
wrong, young man, and nothing but sickness and accident 
will hinder you from being successful." 

" That is just what I mean to do, but I must spend mone}^ 
to do it, and I mustjearn it before I can spend it," answered 
Clarence. 

Before we retired that night, JMr. Benson insisted upon 
paying to mother a week's board in advance, although she 
told him that she was not in a hurry for it. 

Next day the hen-dealer came after more chickens, and 
another man came with him who bargained with Clarence for 
all his cabbages, turnips, and potatoes that he would have to 
sell, at a certain price per bushel or hundred weight, and also 
for the onions and beets in the garden, he agreeing to come 
after them as he wanted them, and pay for them as he took 
them, for it was his business to sell them in Blackington and 
other villages. The price was satisfactor}- to Clarence, who 
had dreaded the business of selling them, not only because 
he luid little liking for peddling from house to house among 
strangers, but because of the time it would take from otlier 
work Avhich he had planned. Then Mike was hired and the 
corn cut and stocked in the field. Then the sowed corn, 
which had been fed from to the cows in the pasture while the 
dry weather cut off the suppl}' of grass very liberally, so that 
the}' had given more instead of less milk all the dry season, 
and from which the}' had been fed every da}' since, was to be 
attended to, and Clarence not knowing how best to manage 
it, and unable to learn from any of our neiglibors, took a 
walk over to the squire's one evening on purpose to learn. 
By his advice it was cut and put up in large bundles, and the 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 81 

bundles put into large stocks, much larger than I had ever 
seen field-corn put into. As there was no room for it in the 
barn, and it was likely to have to stand in the field until 
wanted to feed out, a pole was firml}- put in the ground and 
the stook made around it and firml}' withed to it, that the 
winds might not blow it down. There was a large amount of 
it, for the cows had not eaten one-quarter of it while green. 
On Saturda}- the squire drove up again, and after looking 
over the farm he and Clarence came in, and after greeting 
my mother, he said : — 

"Now, Helen, as the ventures which Clarence has made 
under my advice, as well as those which he has made without 
it, appear likely to result so well, I want your permission for 
him to go into further extravagance to an extent which I 
never should have advised last spring, but which I think now 
he may attempt safely." 

Mother had to sit down and take a long breath before she 
could ask, "What is it this time. Squire Grey?" 

" Please understand that I have said nothing to Clarence 
about it yet, but I am going to put my plan before you both 
and I hope j-ou will approve of it. I can see that, thanks to 
m}' plan of the sowed corn and turnips, you will have much 
more hay and corn-fodder than j'ou will need to feed out for 
your cows, and there is a neighbor of mine who has three or 
four good cows, half Alderneys, that he must sell, because he 
is short of hay and in feeble health, too, and he will sell them 
cheap, for most of the people that way don't like them as well 
as native cows, because they don't give milk enough, they 
say, although they will make more butter, either one of them, 
if well fed than any of their cows. You can keep them 
almost as well as not, and next summer they will enable you 
to make more than twice as much butter as you have made 
this summer, which I think is not a little." 

" But, squire, there is not room in the barn for any more 
cows," interrupted Clarence. 



82 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

" Nor was there room in j'our hen-house last spring for 
four or five hundred fowls, was there ? But 3'ou made room 
for them. Can 3-ou not fix a cow-stable at the side of the 
barn as cheapl}' as you did 3'our hen-house ? " 

"I don't know but I might, squire," answered Clarence, 
who, I think, enjoyed the idea of building again full as well 
as he did the prospect of having more cows. 

" This will make an addition to your manure-heap next 
spring, and manure is the back-bone of farming. You have 
money enough on hand to buy the cows and fix the building, 
I guess, or if 3'ou have not, there is enough coming out of 
3'Our pigs" (we had twenty little pigs this time), " and your 
cabbages and turnips to pa}^ for it all, and more, too." 

" I am perfectly' willing for him to do this if 3-ou think it 
will be wise, for I can see the profit in keeping more cows, if 
there is fodder to winter them on. It is this draining and 
bu3ing phosphate and such things that I do not understand 
and feel afraid he will sink mone3' in." 

" But," said Clarence, " how can I pasture so man3' cows 
next 3-ear ? " 

" I have thought of that, too, and I want you to plough up 
two or three lots of about an acre each in the pasture, about 
as far apart as 3'ou can, in those places where there is not 
much now but dr3" moss, for that is good rye ground, and 
then sow r3'e upon them. This will make good feed for the 
cows in the spring. My reasons for having it in two or 
three diff'erent lots is that the cows will feed in one lot a few 
da3's and then go to another a few da3-s, and the first one will 
be growing again ; thc3- will in that wa3' have feed that will 
last them until you have sowed corn fit to cut for them. 
This will cost you but 3'our labor and a bushel of rye to the 
acre, unless 3'ou sow grass-seed upon it in the spring, which 
I would do if it was nothing more than the seed that 3-ou can 
sweep up in the barn floor this winter. The fields where you 



HOW WE SA'VrED THE OLD FARM. 83 

have potatoes and field-corn, 3'ou intend to put into lye this 
fall, don't you?" 

" No, I thought I should sow them with oats and grass-seed 
in the spring, and cut the oats green for fodder next 3ear." 

"What field do you mean to plant next year?" asked 
mother. 

" This around the house, and that where the sowed corn 
and turnips are, will be as much as I can get manure for, or 
take care of, and perhaps more. There is about five acres 
here, and it ought to be ploughed and planted a few years 
now." 

" Ver}' well planned, master Clax-ence," said the squire ; 
" and may we call it settled about your buying the four cows ? " 

" Yes ; I will take them as soon as I can get the place fixed 
to put them in." 

" Then I will bu}' the cows for you if you wish me to, and 
keep them until you are read}' for them. They give milk 
enough to pay their keeping now, and I can contrive room 
for them, I guess." 

" Now, about the place for them. What is your idea about 
that, Clarence, for I see 3'ou have an idea, and I know j'our 
idea of that hen-house beat an^'thing I could have suggested ? " 

" I suppose I can put a shed on the east side of the barn 
large enough for four cows, and line the walls up as I did 
those of the hen-house so it would do. I would not make 
an}' floor, but put in sand a foot or two deep, so it would not 
be mudd}-." 

" Let me suggest an improvement upon 3'our plan : make 
j'our shed large enough to hold all 3'our cattle, which will not 
then cost a great deal more, and another year you can take 
all the scaffolds out of your barn, so as to keep nothing but 
hay in that. You will need it all for the grass and oat fodder." 

" Let us go out and look at it, if you are willing, squire ; 
I can plan better when I see the place." 

So they went out and examined the barn, and then the 



84 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

squire went home. That evening the boys went clown to ask 
Bill Giles when he could come and help them, for Bill had 
been at work away all the time, only coming home Saturday 
nights to sta}' over Sunday. 

He had been doing first rate, he said, all summer, and his 
home began to seem much more home-like ; for, under mother's 
tuition, Liza had improved very much in the art of making 
her house comfortable at less expense than it cost before to 
make it uncomfortable. Bill promised to be along in about a 
week, as soon as he could finish the work he had on hand. 

The next week the boys and Mike were bus}' threshing the 
rye, which had been standing in the field north of the barn, 
where it had been put up when it was taken off the field where 
it grew, that the field might be ploughed. Gannett, the tavern- 
keeper, had engaged the straw at fifteen dollars a ton, and 
he drew it away as fast as they could get it threshed. It 
was not finished that week, but the}- had time to finish it and 
clear awa}' a place for the new cow-shed, besides drawing home 
the lumber for it, before Bill came, as his job had lasted longer 
than he expected. 



CHAPTER XI. 

Our boarders remained with us three weeks, and we became 
very well acquainted with them during their stay, little Jessie 
in particular growing very dear to us. 

Henry Farnham had grown quite brown and strong-looking 
while he was with us, and George Benson had begun to seem 
more like his brother. He had shaken off his indiffei'ence 
or laziness, and laughed oftener and heartier than when he 
first came, and seemed to take more interest in the field 
sports. Jake came for them ever}' morning, sometimes long 
before daylight, for a fishing excursion, in which case they 
returned to breakfast, Jake always having a luncheon in his 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 85 

game-bag, which must be eaten, or it would spoil, he said, 
when invited to share our breakfast. When he came to the 
house at an hour when we were likel}' to be up, he alwa^'s had 
something for Jessie — a flower, a curious plant, an Indian's 
arrow-head, or any little thing that he thought would please 
her fancy, and she alwaj-s repaid him with a kiss. I think 
Jake went without his pipe and tobacco man}' a morning until 
after he had seen Jessie, that his lips might be clean to re- 
ceive her kiss. 

One day, when they had been fishing in the morning and a 
shower had obliged them to remain at the house after break- 
fast, Jake was sitting b}^ the fire with Jessie on his knee, and 
George Benson was boasting of a good shot which he made 
at some bird the day before, when Jake looked up with indig- 
nation, and suddenly asked, — 

" I suppose you didn't know that when 3'ou shot a bird that 
you didn't want to eat, excepting a crow or a hawk, you 
killed a man at the same shot, did 3'Ou? " 

•'I certainl}' did not," laughed George ;," and I did not 
know that 3'ou had an}' such superstitions, either, or I would 
not have shot it." 

1 suppose we all looked at Jake in some surprise, for he 
quickl}- answered : — 

" It isn't au}' superstition, as 3'ou call it, but can be fig- 
ured right out accordin' to Daboll and Pike, and I'll tell 3-ou 
how I look at it. You see ever3' time Clarence here, or 
an3' other farmer, plants or sows a seed, there is a bug, or 
a worm, or some pesk3' creepin', crawlin' thing stands ready 
to eat up that seed, or what grows from it, and these little 
birds are read3- to eat up those same bugs and things, 
and if you had let this one live, he would have ate about a 
hundred of them to-da3', and as many more to-morrow, and 
a heap of them before he died. But now those bugs will eat 
up the crops, and some man or woman or little girl, like this 
I have on m}- lap, will starve to death for lack of what the 



86 now WE SAVED TILE OLD FARM. 

bugs and worms have eaten up. And as near as I can figure 
it up, one does starve to death for every sich bird that is shot 
just for the fun of it, and so I make it a rule never to shoot 
an}- birds that I don't want to carry home, unless it's a hawk 
or a crow, that does more hurt than good." 

"Thank you, Jake ; I will adopt the same rule in future, 
and 3'our farm assistants are safe for all me. I am afraid 
that if I do not I may wish some time that I had the crop that 
the worms have eaten up," and George laughed, but with a 
look that assured us that he would keep the promise so readily 
given. 

" Well," said Jake, " stranger things than that have hap- 
pened. It ain't the poor altogether that starves to death, nor 
riches that will save a man from it. I used to know a man 
that was about as rich as an}- in these parts, and as mean, 
too, and when the news came about so man}- starving in Ire- 
land, and somebody wanted him to give something to help 
buy a cargo of flour to send over to them, he said, let them 
starve ; he wasn't afraid that he should starve if they did. 
But he did starve in less than a year : had a cancer or some- 
thing in his throat, and couldn't swallow a mouthful for days 
before he died. He offered the doctors all he was worth if 
they would only contrive some way to feed him, but they 
couldn't do nothing for him. I don't knoAV as his refusing to 
give that time had anything to do with it ; but I don't reckon 
that he felt any better when he thought about refusing to help 
them that was as hungry as he was." 

" I could hardly have pitied him," said Mrs. Benson. 

" You think now that you wouldn't, maybe ; but I've mostly 
noticed that a man's worst enemy can't stand by and see him 
sufTerin' sich torment as that a great while without being 
willin' to help him out of it some way." 

Soon the time came for our boarders to go away, and they 
left, first getting mother to promise that she would take them 
again next year, if they should decide to come. 



HOW "WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 87 



CHAPTER XII. 

Just before they left, Bill came on to begin the shed, and 
he and Jake were taken into consultation, the result of which 
was an enlarging of the original plan for a shed, until it ex- 
tended around the south and east sides of the barn, eighteen 
feet wide. The posts were set in the ground, as were the 
hen-house posts, but the lower ends were first burnt in a fire 
which was built in the j'ard, until they were thoroughl}- 
charred some waj's above the part which would be set in the 
ground. This was to keep them from deca3ing, as Jake said 
such burnt sticks never rotted. Then Mike was put to draw- 
ing more slabs and boards, as Clarence had not got enough, 
after which he and Jake went to drawing sand to cover the 
ground under the shed a foot deep or more. The sides were 
covered, and lined with slabs and stuffed with meadow ha}' ; 
the roof and the mangers for the cows were made of good 
boards, those which were in the old barn being taken out and 
put in as far as the}' would go. The windows, which were 
left of those which were bought of Bill in the spring, were suf- 
ficient for the new cow stables, to light it to the satisfaction 
of Clarence, who was an enthusiast in regard to sunlight. 
There were fourteen half-windows, all so arranged as to be' 
easih' taken out, or swung up against the wall. This made it 
necessar}' to use some boards around where the windows were 
put in, but the space between them was lined. 

As I so minutely described the building of the hennery, I 
need not tell how the shed was contrived, but I will describe 
its appearance after it was finished. Passing from out the 
barn floor at the south side through the old cow stables near 
tlie centre, 3'ou entered an alley-way about five feet wide, in 
front of the cows' heads. At the right, in the south-west 



88 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

corner, was the horse stable, with a chance to put the feed 
into the mangers from the alley-way. There were stalls for 
three horses, they standing with their heads towards the 
cows. These stalls, and a place to hang harnesses, occupied 
twelve feet of the west end of the shed ; there was three feet 
for a passage-wa}' in front of their heads, and by the side of 
the cows, into tlie cow stables, or turning to the right by the 
harnesses, you could pass through the horse-stable door out 
of the barn. Going from the entrance to the left, j-ou 
would pass in front of the cows to the east end. There were 
mangers there for five cows, with their heads to the north. 
Then, upon the east side were mangers for nine cows and 
oxen, and an alley- way in front of them all the way, five 
feet wide, and an entrance again into the barn floor at the 
east end of it. In the north-east corner was a shed for 
wagons and sleds, which had always stood out of doors 
before. This shed opened to the north. Doors opened 
from both cow stables into the yard upon the south side. 
Thus the feed, which was mixed on the barn floor, was car- 
ried out one way to the horse and five cows, and the other 
way to the oxen and the rest of the cows. 

This proved a more expensive job than Clarence had an- 
ticipated, as it took nearly three thousand feet of boards, 
besides some of those which he had left from the draining ; 
• but he was quite well pleased with it, although he found it not 
likely to be as warm as the old stable was. But as a help 
to that, slabs were put upon the timbers above the cows and 
the bog hay was moved in there from the stack in the yard. 
This made it much warmer, besides getting the hay under 
cover. When it was finished the boj's went after the new 
cows and brought them home. 

Mother and I carried the bo3's over in the wagon, and 
mother had the pleasure of paying the interest upon that 
mortgage, while Clarence paid for the cows. He had also 
paid all the expenses of the new shed, and, as manj' of the 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 89 

pigs were promised, and he had j'et man}' potatoes and cab- 
bages and nearly all of his turnips left, he hoped to be able 
soon to pay for the phosphate which had been put upon the 
rye-field. After the shed was finished the rest of the har- 
vesting was finished as rapidly as it might be, the turnips 
being left for the last, excepting as the man came after 
them. The cabbage and turnip leaves were all fed to the 
cows, and I think they gave more milk and more butter than 
an}' one else's cows in the neighborhood, and as we had now 
eight cows we kept up our supply of butter to the store. 

The rye was also sowed in the pasture, as the squire had 
advised, and the season's work was over, and the question of 
how we were to live practically settled when we sat down to 
our Thanksgiving dinner, which we were able to eat with 
thankful hearts. We had prospered beyond our most san- 
guine expectations, although we had spent our money 
almost as freely and as fast as we had taken it in. The two 
acres in potatoes had yielded over two hundred bushels of 
fine potatoes ; the three acres in corn had given us two hun- 
dred and forty baskets of good corn, nearl}' as much as had 
been on the eight acres the year before, but there was not 
near as much pig-corn. 

The garden had supplied our wants in its season, and 
there had been thirt}' bushels of onions and ten bushels of 
beets upon it besides, which had been sold. The cabbages 
had sold for an hundred and sixt}' dollars and the turnips 
for nearly an hundred and twenty. Then the pigs, the chick- 
ens, the r^-e-straw, the butter and eggs had helped their share 
toward our success. After we had taken our Thanksgiving 
dinner, Clarence brought out that same old ledger of which 
I have spoken, and gave us an account of the income and 
expenditures of the farm since he had taken charge of it, for in 
the time which had passed since the visit to the squire's, whicli 
I have chronicled, the produce and the pigs had been sold, 
and all the debts paid, excepting the mortgage, and Clarence 



90 now 'WTS SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

had been to the squire's to pa}' for the phosphate which was 
put upon the r3'e-field. I have tlie book before nie with the 
original entries, but I will only give the statement of the 
result : — 

We had sold off the farm : — 

IGO bushels of potatoes, at 45 cts. per bush $72 00 

Cabbages at various times and prices, amounting to 158 42 

250 bush, turnips, at 50 and 45 cts. per bush IIG 50 

30 bush, onions, at 75 cts. per bush 22 50 

10 bush, beets, at 60 cts. per bush 6 00 

520 lbs. butter, at 25 cts. per lb 130 00 

Eggs to amount of 35 GO 

Chickens and hens to amount of 315 35 

Pigs to amount of 120 00 

Six tons rye-straw, at .$15 per ton 90 00 

60 bush, rye, at 70 cts. per bush 42 00 

Garden stuff 4 15 

$1,112 52 
And had received as board money 105 00 

Amount of income for less than a year $1,217 52 

"We had paid out : — 

For pigs $25 00 

For 4 cows 1G5 00 

For 5 loads slabs 5 00 

For boards for draining 25 00 

For boards and lumber for sheds for cows 55 00 

For superphosphate ". 1G5 00 

For garden and turnip seed 4 25 

For carpenter's labor 10 00 

For Jake and Mike's labor 87 50 

For blacksmithing 7 42 

For groceries and other things from store 183 40 

For fresh meat from market wagon 31 70 

For interest 30 00 

For taxes 45 50 

839 77 

Leaving on hand §377 75 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 91 

"We had on hand also, new stock : — 

Four cows $165 00 

Four calves, two lambs 50 00 

Two old hogs, three pigs 40 00 

110 fowls, at 75c 82 50 



Permanent improvement, draining, cost about $40 00 

Hen-house and shed had cost about 60 00 

Phosphate on rye-field 110 00 



$237 50 



$210 00 

But as we had less corn, less potatoes and lye, and less of 
some other things in the house, we onl}' estimated our profit 
for our labor for the year at about eight hundred dollars, 
including the increase of fodder for the cows. At any rate, 
we felt that we had reason to be abundantly' satisfied with 
our season's work. 

" And now, I suppose," said m}' mother, " you intend to 
pay up as much of that mortgage as 3-ou can. You might 
pay three hundred dollars on it, which would make it very 
small." 

" I know I might, mother, but I have not made up my 
mind that it is best to do so. I am so well pleased with mj' 
improvements that I think of carrying them along farther, 
and trying if I cannot make more money next year than I 
have tliis, and it may need this money for that purpose. 
The squire is in no hurry for his money, and if it will pay to 
spend it on the farm as well as what I have spent this ^^ear 
has paid, it will be better than paying the mortgage with it. 
We have done well, but nothing extraordinary so far, for if 
a man had hired such a place as this, with the stock and 
tools on it, he would have to pay all this money, or most of 
it, for rent, and then 3-our wages and Alice's would have 
taken two hundred dollars, and Ned and I wouldn't have 
much for our work. Now, I think the way to run a farm 
and make it pa}-, is to do just as storekeepers do. When 



92 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

they sell an5^thing and get the mone}^ for it, they put the 
mone}' right into the stores again in new goods. If they 
should do like farmers, when they get a dollar put it some- 
where outside of the land they got it from, their stores would 
not pay long." 

" But what more improvements do you want to make?" 
asked my mother. 

" I want to draw sand upon that field which I drained this 
winter, and then next spring harrow it over and sow grass-seed 
and clover. I have got to build a new hen-house, as large 
as the one I built last spring, for I want one to set hens in, 
and the other to keep them in while lading. This old one I 
shall put into a piggery altogether. Then, I want to get 
that bog meadow, or a part of it, into cranberries, for I have 
been reading about how the3' pay great profit, and I think 
that is a great place for them. Then, there is a hydraulic 
ram to be put into the brook in the pasture to bring water 
up to the barn-3'ard, and house, too ; and an apparatus to 
get to steam the ha}' for the cows, and another to cook swill 
for the hogs ; and the orchard to set out in this field where 
the sowed corn and turnips were ; and the house to fix up a 
little better if 3'ou are going to have boarders next summer 
again, and — " 

" Stop a minute, Clarence ; j'ou have planned enough to 
cost four thousand dollars instead of four hundred. If the 
house was good enough for those who were here this fall it is 
good enough for anybody that I want to board, and if it is 
not the}- can go farther ; so you can take that off your list." 

" Ver}- well, I expect to take several of these things off for 
this 3'ear, but I wanted to show you that I could see enough 
that I thought it would pay to do, to keep me bus}' this win- 
ter, and that I might need a large part of this money before 
I began to get much off the farm next year. We shall have • 
to depend upon our eggs entirely this winter, for we cannot 
make butter to sell any longer, though we might if we had 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 93 

any way to keep it up as 3^ellow as it has been, for all the 
fault that is found now, is that it is white. They own that 
it tastes just as good, but they don't like to see white butter." 

' ' But if you do not succeed next year as well as jon have 
this, 3-ou may wish that 3'ou had been more prudent with 
this money, and had paid a part of the mortgage while j'ou 
could." 

" I have but little fear of not doing as well next year, 
for I have twice as much to do with. I shall have nearly as 
much again manure this ^-ear that I had last to put upon the 
land, and we shall have twice as many cows, and I can easily 
raise twice as many chickens, and I will have more earl^' ones, 
too. Oh, I am confident that I can manage to make out as 
well next year as I have this 3'ear." 

" Very well, 3^ou can have 3'our own waj^, and I have no 
fault to find with your management this year ! " 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Thus the winter's work was planned and soon fairl}^ be- 
gun. Mike was sent for and set at work preparing ground 
for the new hen-house, which was to be something xerj dif- 
ferent ft-oni the other. "You see," said Clarence, "the 
other was built just as cheap as it could be, because I had 
no money to spare, and I thought if I could build one cheaply 
that would answer for a few years, I could make enough to 
build a good one then or I would give it up, but I have 
made enough this 3'ear on the chickens to build a good one, 
and I am going to do it, not to take the place of the old one, 
but to use with it until I get ready to build the one in place 
of it. This is going to be kept on purpose to hatch chickens 
and raise them in, but not for them to la3' in." 

Bill Giles was taken into consultation again, but the plan 



94 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

was Clarence's, excepting that Bill was charged with the 
duty of seeing that it was practicable. This was to be only- 
twelve feet wide and forty feet long, and built mostly under 
ground, very much like a hot-house. It was put between the 
house and the other hen-house, just into the pasture side and 
upon the south side of the hill. A cellar was dug so as to be 
about two feet below the level of the ground on the front or 
south side. The north and east walls were of stone, six 
feet high, the east and south walls onl}' two feet high of 
stone and four feet of timbers and boards. The entrance 
Avas at the centre of the east end. The roof was highest in 
the centre, and the south side of it mostly of glass as was 
also the south front. Bill Giles had no more windows to 
sell, but he knew some one whom he had been at work for 
who had, and Clarence went with him to bu}' them. They 
cost rather more than those which were bought of Bill, but 
the}^ were larger. There was a half-window in each end 
in the peak of the roof. There were nests all around the 
inside, next to the wall, and these were so arranged tliat 
they could be taken apart and taken out to be white-washed 
and cleaned. 

The whole cost of this building was one hundred and thirty 
dollars. We should have thought this a large sum a few 
months before, but we ( at least Ned and I ) had begun to 
have such faith in the success of our elder brother, that we 
should not have ventured to remonstrate if he had proposed 
roofing the whole farm with glass. But b}' this time the hun- 
dred and fort}^ pullets were giving us from six dozen to ten 
dozen of eggs ever}' day, and as the}' were selling at winter 
prices, we could soon hope to regain the money. To make 
them do so well we had to take the best of care of them. 
Corn and meal we had in j^lent}', of our own raising thus 
far, but Clarence bought meat-scraps, and ground bone and 
oats for them and was careful to see that we fed them regu- 
larly, and gave warm water several times a day. Ned looked 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 95 

after those in the hen-house on the hill, while I attended to 
those in the old hen-house. 

The care of cows and calves, lambs and hogs, took up consid- 
erable time every day, and as Ned and I were attending school 
again, Clai-ence found it necessary to get Mike to help him 
about drawing sand upon the drained field. As the}' put 
about four hundred loads upon that field and fifty more upon 
the grass-land below the garden and spread it evenl}*, you can 
imagine that it was no small task ; but they found time to do 
it, .and also to provide a year's supply of wood, cut, split, and 
piled in the wood-house, before spring. I forgot to mention 
that a few loads of strawy manure had been drawn out, when 
the ground first froze, and spread upon the strawberr3'-bed and 
among the other bushes which were set in the garden. The 
strawberry vines were also covered with bushes and leaves 
from the woods. 

Toward spring the droppings under the hen-roosts, and the 
sand which had been mixed with them, were carted out and 
spread upon the grass-land between the pasture lane and the 
road, and during the February thaw the manure in the 3-ard 
and lane-way was thrown into a heap. The sand which had 
been drawn into the hole at the end of the old barn was cov- 
ered b}' the new shed, and Clarence did not intend to move 
that until spring, while that which was put under the barn 
floor had not had much chance to improve from its condition 
when carted in, I could see by words that Clarence let fall 
at times that he was fretting because he had not a shed or a 
barn cellar for his barn-yarn manure, and also that he had to 
drive the cattle to the brook to drink ; but he did not feel able 
to attempt to remedy' either of these faults at present, as he 
had been obliged to emplo}' Mike nearly all winter, and his 
wages, with the cost of the hen-house, and the bran and oats 
which he had bought for cows, calves, and pigs had sadly re- 
duced the little pile of money, of which he had been so proud 
at Thanksgiving time. Certainly, the egg-money was help- 



96 HOW WE SATED THE OLD FAEM. 

ing very mueli to keep the balance straight, but I knew that 
he had also other plans which would require more money be- 
fore summer came again. 

But we were by no means discouraged. In February there 
were twent}' hens with chickens in the new hen-house, and 
forty-two more were sitting, which promised well for the 
chicken-trade in June. And all the stock at the barn was 
thriving ver}' well. The cows were fat and smooth, for Ned 
carded and bruised them every day, as he also did the calves, 
while Clarence fed them with bran regularly. He believed 
that it would pay to feed liberally even when the cows were 
not in milk, as he had an idea, gained from his agricultural 
papers, that b}' so doing he led them to give more milk when 
the}' came to milking, and that, if fat, their milk would make 
much more butter than if lean. 

The little pigs were also kept growing rapidly, in spite of 
the saying that pigs will not do well in winter, for the pen was 
warm. Clarence put two windows in the south end of it, 
which were taken out of the barn when the shed had rnade 
them unnecessar}'. The potatoes and turnips which were too 
small to sell had all been fed out, — a part of them to the cows 
and heifers and a part to the hogs. 

So the spring found us ready for another 3'ear's hard work. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

As so much more work had been planned for the next sum- 
mer, it was thought best to engage Mike for the season. In 
fact, he had been kept busy nearl}- all winter, although work- 
ing by the day. I think it is time that I introduced Mike 
Murph}', for we thought him as original a character as an}' 
that you are acquainted with in Brookfield. In the first place 
be was Irish, and Irish were not plenty in that region. In 



HOW ^VE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 97 

tlie next place, he was not a Catholic, but a most zealous 
Methodist. He was not a great talker, although at times he 
would talk quite freel}', but not when he was at work, and 
seldom except he was speaking of places or people that he had 
seen, for he had worked in all parts of the country. Last, but 
not least, he did not drink whiskey or use tobacco. Add to 
this that he was short, stout, broad-shouldered, and with a 
grave-looking face, badl}* scarred with small-pox, and a red 
head, and that he was apparently about fift}' years old, and 
you have Mr. Murphy before you. He lived in a small cot- 
tage near the schoolhouse, where he had a wife and about a 
dozen children of all ages. 

Ann Murph}', his wife, took care of the pigs, the cow, and 
the children, and found time to do odd jobs of washing and 
house-cleaning for the neighbors, when needed, besides berry- 
picking in the summer. 

The first thing to be attended to in the spring was to plough 
the fields where corn and potatoes grew last year, and sow 
oats and clover with grass-seed. This finished, brushed, 
rolled, and the stone out of the way, the next thing was to 
harrow the drained field and the other below the garden, up- 
on which the sand had been put, and the other upon which 
the sand from the hen-house had been spread, and sow clover- 
seed upon them. As this took about an hundred pounds of 
clover-seed, some of the neighbors saw fit to remonstrate with 
Clarence for such extravagance, but he went on his own way, 
merely saying that, " if one seed out of an hundred comes up 
it will give me clover hay enough to paj' for seed and labor." 

This having been done the manure was drawn upon the 
land where the cabbages grew last 3'ear, and that field was 
ploughed and potatoes planted where the manure had been 
ploughed under. The wood-ashes were used in the hill also 
this year as last. There was only one acre of potatoes 
planted, the rest of the field being reserved for corn, of which 
there would be three acres where the sowed corn and turnips 



98 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FAKM. 

had been, upon which the manure was to be spread and har- 
rowed in. Clarence also bought all the wood-ashes that he 
could find for sale around the neighborhood, paying therefor a 
dollar a barrel, which was more than the "soft-soap-man" 
would pa}', thus incurring the enmity of that greasy indi- 
vidual. This he intended to use around the corn when it 
came up and was read}' for the first hoeing. 

The garden, or that part of it not occupied by the strawber- 
ries and other berries, was ploughed and manured very liber- 
all}', the manure being ploughed under. The parsnips had 
been taken out when the ground first thawed and fed out to 
one of the new cows, which had dropped a fine heifer-calf 
about the first of April. The garden was planted and sowed 
with very much the same crops as last year, excepting that 
the garden-beans were omitted, and only one lot of peas and 
sweet-corn put in, the rest being left for a part of the field 
around the house. While Clarence and Ned were planting 
the garden and hoeing the strawberries and bushes, Mike was 
ploughing the field by the house and getting it ready, but be- 
fore anything was done about planting that, the cornfield 
was manured and planted, the manure being put on more 
freely than it was last year, as it had also been upon that 
where the potatoes were planted. Then the rest of the manure 
was put upon the end of the other field next to the road, cov- 
ering nearly an acre of it. For the rest a ton and a half of 
phosphate was to be ordered. The acre which was manured 
was nearly half taken for garden stuff", of which there was a 
greater variety and a larger amount planted than last year, 
sweet-corn, beans, peas, squashes, and melons being put upon 
this land. By the time this was done, Mike had the yards 
filled again with the mud that had been drawn from the pond 
and left in the pasture. 

That which Clarence had put into the yards last summer 
having been thoroughly forked over and mixed with other 
contents of the yards, had been pronounced b}' him to be as 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 99 

good as it could be made for fertilizing the land and yielding 
food for the young plants. But while this work was being 
done other things had not been neglected ; the cows and 
calves had at last been turned into the pasture, and the r3'e 
which had been sown there had proved a perfect success, fur- 
nishing plenty of food for all that we had to turn into it ; so 
plenty in fact, that, by the advice of Jake, Clarence did not 
leave them in for only a part of the day at a time at first, for 
fear of their over-eating, and this caution was not unneces- 
sary, for one of the calves was quite sick on the second day, 
seeming to be in great pain, and badly swollen in the body. 

Uncle Tom Hardy was sent for, he being considered the 
best hand with sick cattle. As soon as he looked at the 
calf he said : — 

" 'Taint nothin' serious, young man ; eat a little too much 
of that rj'e, that's all. Here, Alice, you run in and tell your 
mother to put about two tablespoonfuls of ginger, one 
of saleratus, and a little molasses into a quart pitcher, and 
pour bilin' water on it, and let it stand a few minutes, and 
then pour it into a long-nosed bottle, and send it out here." 

I did not stop to hear what else he had to say, but hurried 
off, and when I came back the calf's head was raised up and 
the medicine poured down its throat. Then the sick animal 
was lifted up and made to walk around. I would have been 
very glad to stop and watch the recover}' of the calf, for I 
had no doubt now of its recovery, but I was obliged to 
return to the house. In about an hour Clarence came in and 
said the calf was all right, but he beat up an egg in a cup, 
and put a handful of powdered charcoal into it, which he said 
he was going to give it, as a further aid to a perfect cure. 
For some da^-s the calf was kept in, and was fed on green 
grass very carefully, but soon was well as the others, and 
apparently no worse for the sickness. 

Other things had progressed. There were nearlj' a thou- 
sand chickens at the hen-houses by the first of Ma}'. There 



100 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

wore eighteen little pigs at the piggery-, most of which were 
engaged before they were old enough to take awa}'. The 
lambs, or sheep, as we now called them, had been sheared 
early in May, and had yielded ten pounds of wool. All the 
cows had calved before being turned into the pasture, and as 
tlie calves Avere all half Alderne}-, and those from the new 
cows three-quarters Alderne}', we did not need to change the 
heifer calves ; but the others were exchanged with the squire 
the same as last year, and we thus had eight heifer calves 
growing to still further increase our stock. 

The gardens had been hoed once, and the potatoes culti- 
vated by horse not less than twice, and the gi'ass was start- 
ing finel}', when one day we were surprised by a visit from 
Mr. Benson. He had with him a stranger, whom he intro- 
duced as his friend, Mr. Rockwood. They bore us kind mes- 
sages and tokens of remembrance from Mrs. Benson and Jes- 
sie and our other friends, and somewhat astonished us by 
stating that the former two were desirous of again com- 
ing to board with us, and that Mr. Rockwood wished to 
engage board also for his wife and little daughter and his 
mother and two sisters. They wished to come the latter 
part of May and spend the summer with us, and perhaps the 
autumn, and Mr. Benson and Mr. Rockwood wished to come 
every Saturday night and sta}' until Monda}'. Mr. Rock- 
wood also wished to bring his two horses and carriage and 
engage Clarence to keep them and take care of them for him, 
or find some one to do so. Mrs. Rockwood would drive herself, 
he said, as she was accustomed to do so in the country. 

My mother scarcely knew what to reply at first, but finall}'^ 
answered : "I fear my chambers would not be suitable for so 
man}', as I have only the two front chambers large, and the 
rest are ver}' small, and I fear the ladies would not like them." 

" Will you allow me to be the judge of that? You have 
scared}' an idea of the size of the rooms to whicli we are con- 
demned when we stay at the fashionable hotels at Saratoga 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 101 

and such places, and I am very sure that if we endured them 
we can surel}' rest in 3'ours. We only want the chambers to 
sleep in, Mrs. Reynolds, and when weather admits, the ladies 
will be out of doors much of the time, and the^' would rather 
be together than to divide their party in different houses," 

It ended, as I had expected it to end, by his inspecting the 
rooms, and declaring them large enough and good enough, 
and making an offer for the accommodations wanted, which 
we thought was liberal enough. It certainly insured us a steady 
income of fort3'-eight dollars a week, including the amount to 
be paid for feed and care of horses. And as they insisted upon 
j)aying a month in advance, we were once more supplied with 
mone^', for Clarence's improvements had almost run away 
with that which seemed so much to us last fall, and not only 
with that, but with the pig-money besides, excepting what was 
reserved to buy the phosphate. They remained with us over 
night, and Mr. Benson was just getting ready to start after 
tea for a visit to Jake, when we saw that individual entering 
the 3'ard. 

As soon as he eutered his hand was grasped b}' Mr. Ben- 
son, with a cordiality that showed that he had a true regard 
for the rough hunter. 

" Well, cappen," said Jake, " I heard down at the Corners 
that 3'ou had come up this wa^*, and I thought I must come up 
and see 3'OU once more." 

" Very glad to meet 3'ou, Jake," answered Mr. Benson ; " I 
was just coming to see you. Let me introduce m}' friend, 
Mr. Rockwood." 

" I am glad to see one I have heard so much of," said Mr. 
Rockwood. 

" If you are a friend of the cappen's, I am glad to know 
j'Cr," said Jake ; " for I calculate he is one of that kind 
mone}' don't spile, and that's a scarce sort, I tell 3'ou. I 
never knew being poor to spile a man, though losing riches 
does sometimes ; but when a man that has been poor gets richj 



102 now WE sa\'t:d the old FARii. 

it's about sure to spile him ; while if a man is born with the 
notion that he has plenty of mone}', it's most likely to give 
him a notion that he is better than other folks, and then he 
stops tryin' to see how he can be better than he is already, 
and I calculate, cappen, that's what we are in this world for." 

" Then 3'ou think, sir, that it is better for a man to be poor 
than rich? " said Mr. Rockwood. 

" Well, I suppose the best way for now is just the waj- it 
is now, for He who fixed things knows better than j^ou or 
me." 

" How should you like the idea of the rich dividing with 
the poor, so that all should have alike ? " asked Mr. Rock- 
wood. 

" Before I should agree to that, I suppose I should want to 
be pretty sure that it would give me more than I've got now, 
'stead of taking anything away," said Jake with a laugh. 

"I see," said Mr. Rockwood, "you are quite a philos- 
opher." 

" That depends upon how 3-ou mean that word. If you 
mean that I think ever^'thing is in the hands of One who will 
guide us all right, and that it will come out for the best if the 
route is a little rough by spells, then I take it as a compli- 
ment and thank you. But I didn't come here to hear myself 
clack like an old woman at a tea-drinkin' ; I come to see the 
cappen this time, and I want to hear from his little woman." 

" My wife is in very good health," answered Mr. Benson, 
misunderstanding Jake, purpose!}', I thought. 

" Thank you," said Jake, " that's good news ; but it wasn't 
her that I was thinking of; for I shouldn't have took sich a 
liberty in speaking of her, though if I had had vay good 
manners aboard, I might have known that I ought to ask 
about her first. But it was the little woman, that used to sit 
on Jake's knee, that I most wanted to hear from." 

" She never was as well before as she has been since she 
left here, and she sent Jake something to remember her by," 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 103 

answei'ed he, taking out his pocket-book and handing Jake a 
photograph. " And here is another for Mrs. Rej-nolds, 
though I think she most wanted to send it to Ned," he added, 
with a glance at m}'^ 3'ounger brother which set him blushing 
at a rate that was unusual with him. 

Of course all conversation was suspended until we had all 
seen and admired the pictures, and Jake was the first to re- 
sume it. 

"Thank her and you too, cappen, but you tell her that 
Jake didn't need anything to remember her b}", for I haven't 
been more likely to forget her than a hungry horse is to for- 
get oats that he is longing for all the time. But I am glad to 
get it, to show that she remembered me. And, now, how is 
George and Henr}' ? " 

" George has been in Europe some months, travelling, partly 
on business and partly for pleasure. We heard from him a 
short time ago, well and prospering, and enjoying life very 
well. Henrj- is following up his studies, and in better health 
than he was last ^-ear. 1 hope to have them both down here 
to go hunting with us next fall, if nothing goes wrong." 

"I shall be glad to travel the woods with you all again, 
cappen, though you won't need me to show 30U round now ; 
but I shall be glad of 3'our company, if j-ou like to have me 
with you. And that reminds me, cappen, that somebody 
sent me a keg of powder and two or three bags of shot about 
last Christmas time, that is the best I ever saw, and I haven't 
scarceh^ missed a shot since I begun to use it, and it isn't 
nigh used up 3'et. If 3'ou happen to see the man that sent it, 
5'ou can tell him how thankful Jake was, not only for the 
things, but for liking old Jake well enough to know what 
would suit him." 

" If I see him, I will," said Mr. Benson, gravel}' ; " and 
as somebod}' from this waj' (perhaps mj' friend, the hotel- 
keeper) has kept me well supplied with game all winter, I 
wish you would try to find out who it is, and tell him that I 



104 now WE SAVED TIIE OLD F^VEM. 

have always thought of these old woods and the pleasant 
times we had last fall when I have tasted thorn ; and little 
Jessie has eaten his gifts when she has been unable to eat any- 
thing else." 

" I'll bear it in mind," said Jake, '• and tell him all 30u've 
said ; but I don't allow that it's any great shakes, for sich 
things have been so plenty here this winter that we couldn't 
eat them all ourselves. And so Henr}' is stud3-in' yet? What 
does he calculate on bein' ? — a doctor, or a law^'er, or a min- 
ister?" 

" I don't think he has decided 3'et. Which would you ad- 
vise?" 

" I don't think much of lawj'ers, any wa}', for it's about as 
much a part of their business to try to make out that wrong 
is right, or to mix things up so that you can't tell which from 
t'other — so that you will call the wrong thing the right thing, 
as anything they have to do. Not but a man might be honest 
and on the right side, if he is a lawj-ej- ; but he is under great 
temptations to work for the pa^', and work on the side that 
offers best pay, or speaks for him first. As for a minister, 
learning of any sort won't make a man a minister, if it isn't 
born in him ; if he aint chock-full of love for the One who 
made him, and for all that He has made, he never will be any- 
thing but a preacher, and that is a very different thing. As 
for a doctor, they have a chance to do a heap of good, if they 
just work right ; they can learn a great deal about what to do 
for sick folks and make a pretty good rough guess when they 
don't know ; but I should like them better if they would tell 
them that they are doctrin' when they know what to do for 
them, and when the^^ are only guessin'. I reckon, though, 
that if Henry is to study for one of them three, that he had 
best to study for to be a doctor." 

" I don't know but you are right, Jake ; at any rate, I can- 
not dispute 3'ou," said Mr. Benson. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAHM. 105 

" I allow, cappen, that these boys have fixed up things 
round here some since 3'ou went away." 

" The}' have made some improvements, which Clarence has 
been showing us this afternoon, and I think he is managing 
very shrewdly." 

" Well, I think if he keeps at it a few 3'ears more that there 
won't be a farm an3^where about that will come up to this, 
unless it's the squire's, over in Stafford. Fact is, be has got 
hold of the right end of the stick, and that's the main thing. 
Give things plenty to make them grow and do their best on, 
whether they are planted in the ground or tied up in the barn, 
and then they will do their part." 

" It does not seem as if I had made a beginning 3"et," said 
Clarence ; ' ' for I can see so much more that I want to do, 
that I don't know when I shall get to the end of it." 

" You must work at it as you did at the big arithmetic when 
you went to school," said Jake ; "• just work awaj' on the page 
3'ou have got to, and not be looking at those ahead of 3'ou till 
3'ou come to them. You must stick to it, and keep stickin' 
to it, if 3'ou want to come out at the end." 

" That is what I mean to do," answered Clarence; "but 
the more I do, the more I see that needs doing." 

" That's the way with all the world ; but I must be goin' 
home, or the old woman will be worried about me ; just re- 
member, cappen, if 3'ou and the bo3's come down next fall I 
want to go out with 3'OU a few da3's for fun and not for pay. 
And tell the little lad3^ that Jake isn't goin' to forget her not 
for man3' a day." 

" You will have a chance to see her soon, Jake, as I have 
made arrangements for my wife and the children to come 
down here and spend the summer with Mrs. Re3'nolds, and I 
hope 3"ou will keep up 3^our acquaintance with them." 

" There, now, that's the best news I've heard for a long while," 
said Jake, " and 3'ou may be sure that T shall keep an eye on 
them at spells. And shall we see you down here, too? " 



106 HOW AVE SAVED THE OLD TABU. 

" I shall probably spend the Sabbath here," said Mr. 
Benson. 

"That's right, cappen. For mj^ part, I don't see how a 
bod}- can spend Sabbath, which means a day of rest, in the 
city ; but I suppose there's a deal in getting used to it. 
Come, Rover, let's go home now. Good-evening, sir," turn- 
ing to Mr. Rockwood, then to mother, "Mrs. Reynolds, I 
shall come up some time to see the boj's and Miss Alice. 
To-night I come to see the cappen. The old dog knows you, 
too, doesn't he? and is glad to see 3'ou, too. But he doesn't 
know 3"ou as well as I do, and he was afraid j'ou had got 
proud since j'ou had been gone. He wouldn't have corae 
near you if you hadn't spoken to him first, and I doubt if 
he ever would again, if 3'ou had let him go tills time." 

For Mr. Benson had called to the dog, who had been look- 
ing at him with wistful eyes, and now the great hound had 
his forefeet in Mr. Benson's lap, and with head pillowed 
upon Mr. Benson's shoulder, was manifesting his delight at 
meeting again a friend. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Before the gentlemen went away it was arranged that 
Clarence should return with them to the city that he might 
buj' his phosphate, and also that he might purchase, under 
Mr. Benson's directions, certain groceries which we should 
need during the stay of our boarders. Mr. Benson assured 
us that a considerable saving could be made b}- purchasing 
at wholesale stores in the quantity ; not less than ten per 
cent, on nearly all goods, and much more upon teas, molas- 
ses, and other articles. We also desired to see if he could 
not get a better price for his butter in the cit}- than at the 
Corners, about which Mr. Benson agreed also to help him ; 
and then he was to take a da}- or two to see the sights of the 



HOW WB SAVED THE OLD FARM. 107 

city, which he had never visited, and to return with the peo- 
ple when they came. The care of the farm was left to Ned 
and Mike, with many insti'uctions in regard to care of calves 
and chickens. To us at home the time passed SI0WI3', and 
we had not thought we could miss our quiet lad so much as 
we did. 

But it passed, and on Saturda}^ all came together, and the 
dread of the new acquaintances we were called upon to make 
was forgotten in our haste to greet Clarence and our friends. 
But our greetings over, Mr.. Rockwood introduced his wife 
and her mother and sisters. I had expected to see in the 
former a masculine woman, I suppose because he had spoken 
of her driving the horses as a matter of course, and I had an 
idea then that onlj' such could or would drive two horses. 

Imagine m^' surprise at seeing a very short, pleasant-look- 
ing girl, with hair in ringlets, and with spectacles on her nose, 
who looked as if she might be a school-teacher, brought for- 
ward as the wife of the grave-looking Mr. Rockwood. Her 
mother was a stoutlj' built lady of about sixty 3'ears old, 
apparentl}^ a little sharp in temper, verj' polite, if not very 
pleasant. Her name was Mrs. Vining. The eldest daughter, 
Annie, was like her in appearance, looking older than Mrs. 
Rockwood, though reall}' four years 3'Ounger. The j-oungest,. 
Miss Henrietta, seemed a mere girl of about my age ; and I 
was pleased to see that she and Clarence were already good 
friends. The boarders were quickly shown to their rooms, 
and mother and I returned to the kitchen, that we might hi ar 
from Clarence an account of his adventures. 

Suffice it to sa}' that while the sights of the great cit}- were 
as novel and amusing to him as to an}- countrj- lad Avho visits 
it for the first time, he seemed most taken up b}' the wonder- 
ful tools and machinery' for farm work which he had seen at 
the agricultural store, and the amount of farm produce which 
could be sold at the market. He had succeeded well in his 
purchases, but had not been able to find a market for his but- 



108 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD F.VRM. 

ter at an}' greater price than he had obtained at the Corners, 
partly because of being unknown and having no specimen 
with him, and partlj' from the fact that he had no ice to pack 
it in, and the dealer thought it could not be sent so far in 
summer without ice with any surety of its arriving in good 
shape. He was, however, shown some which looked no 
better than ours, which the dealer paid three times as much 
for as we obtained, and he declared that he would not be 
without ice another 3'ear. 

Clarence was glad to return to the farm, for the endless 
noise and bustle and hurr}' of the city was tiresome to him ; 
so much that he thought he would have been tired if he had 
done nothing but stand and watch others moving so rapidly 
about. They had had a pleasant drive down, Mr. Rockwood 
having come with his own team, and Mr. Benson bringing 
Clarence and Miss Henrietta in another, in which he and 
Mr. Rockwood would return on Monday'. After that time 
mother was very busy, and so was I, when not in school, and 
it became necessary also to call in the aid of Ann Murphj', 
Mike's wife, to assist mother two da^'s in the week. 

I was not able to keep as close a watch of the farming as 
I had done before ; but the boys kept me well posted in the 
evening as to what was done, so I did not lose mj' interest in 
it. If I could have had my choice I would have preferred 
working out in the field to working in the house, but it was 
in the house that I was most needed, for we had now the milk 
of eight cows to make butter from, and it was no small job to 
do this in addition to the other work. 

I knew that after Clarence's return the hoeing was quickly 
finished ; the phosphate put upon the land and the sowed corn 
put in ; the cabbages, of which there were not quite as many 
as last year, set out and the turnips sowed. The wood-ashes 
which Clarence had bought in the spring were in part put 
around the hills of field and sweet corn, about a half i)int to 
each hill, just before hoeing, and the rest sowed upon the 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 109 

onion and other beds in the garden. Then the strawberr}-- 
bed began to bear, and it soon became necessar}' to employ a 
large company of women and children to pick them, while 
Clarence went off every afternoon to Blackington with them, 
returning in the evening. 

Mr. Benson had been kind enough to order the boxes and 
crates necessary for the business. There was also some 
green-peas more than we needed, which were taken to Black- 
ington in June. Clarence grumbled not a little at not having 
a smarter horse to go with, but he could afford no other this 
year. 

Upon more than one occasion Miss Henrietta Vining went 
with him for the sake of the ride, although she was not very 
anxious for a ride when her mother and sisters went. B3' the 
last of June, Clarence began haying, engaging Jake to help. 
Some of the neighbors saw fit to remonstrate again against 
cutting the grass so earl}', but upon the three principal lots, 
on which the clover-seed had been sown, clover formed no 
small part of the crop, and as it grew very thick, he was 
afraid it would lodge. Soon after they began, Jake and Mike 
were sitting in the kitchen one night after supper, and mother 
asked Jake how tlie hay would turn out. 

" Never saw no sich crop on this farm, and I never ex- 
pected to, two years ago. Beats all creation ; its lucky he 
has got the scaffold out of the barn so as to have room for 
hay, and I don't know as that will be room enough, for he is 
talking about taking another crop off in September or 
August, and I shouldn't wonder if he did. If he does he 
will have to hire some of Uncle Thomas's land to stack it 
on. In fact, I doubt his getting in all of this crop, and it 
is as prett}' haj for cows as the}' need to have. Seems as 
though everj'thing that boy takes hold of always comes out 
right. That field that he drained, now will cut enough 
sight better grass than it ever did before, and it is about two 
weeks earlier than it used to be." 



110 now WE sA\Ti:D tiie old farm. 

" Sure, Mrs. Reynolds, you needn't fear but there'll be hay 
for all the crathurs this winter, and it will be no small lot 
that is needed, aither, wid all the calves he has growiu', and 
the heifers and all. It bates me intirely," said Mike. 

" I helped cut that field last 3'ear that we cut to-da}^," said 
Jake, " and there was not two tons of ha}^ on it, nor much 
more than a ton and a half, and now if we haven't put four 
tons into tumbles there this afternoon I never will guess 
again. That stuff that come out of the hen-house is power- 
ful, I tell you." 

"I began to think it was too powerful, when the grass first 
came up," said Clarence, " for it looked as if it was burnt at 
first, but after a rain it began to look green again." 

" Well," said Jake, " it is just such a crop as I like to 
swing the scythe in. I don't believe the squire himself has 
got better mowing. And I had as lieve work for 30U as for 
him and risk it." 

" You might well say that, Misther Jake, if j-ou had 
worked for the govenor I did onc't," said Mike. 

" Did 3'ou ever work for a real governor, Mike," asked Ned. 

" I did that for two 3'ear for Guvnor Brown of Connecticut, 
and if ever I worked for a man that was uncomfortable to 
get along wid, he was the man." 

"Well," said Jake, "I haven't no acquaintance with the 
governors, but I alwaj's had an idea that the}' must be 
smarter than other folks." 

"Sure," said Mike, "I've seen them, and seen ginerals 
and one President, but I don't see as they are any great 
shakes, more than the lords and dukes I've seen in the ould 
country, and the}' were born to be what they are." 

"If they would choose the best men for such places, in- 
stead of the richest or the smartest, I reckon it would be 
worth goin' some wa3-s to see one ; but I allow there's better 
men in town than them that gets town offices, and it may be 
there's better men in the States than gets the big oflSces," 
said Jake. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. Ill 



CHAPTER XVI. 

By the time haying was over, I could see that Clarence had 
the improvement fever again, but he scarcely knew where to 
begin. He felt the want of a new barn ver^^ much, for his 
barn was filled, sheds and all, and the bog-meadow hay 
stacked out of doors, and the rye out of doors, and he hoped 
for a second crop upon his Improved fields nearl}' equal to 
the first, if it did not prove too dr}' ; and, in fact, the drouth 
could not much atfect either of those fields. He had some 
money on hand, as the strawberry crop had proved very 
profitable ; the chicken dealer had been after several loads 
of chickens, taking over three hundred in June, but it was 
not likely to prove enough for such a barn as he wanted, and 
he was loth to build a small baru. While he was puzzling 
over it, the squire came over, and in a short time the trouble 
was laid before him. 

" Nothing easier," said he. "How much have you got to 
spend now ? " 

"I have about four hundred dollars, with the butter 
money, and what mother has of board money, and I may 
get another hundred in a month or two." 

" How much will such a barn as jou want cost? " 

"I do not know," answered Clarence; "I want a good 
barn while I am about it, and one that will be large enough 
for the farm the next twenty 3'ears ; but I have not planned 
it yet, and should not know what it would cost if I did. But 
I know what I have will not do it, and I haven't anything I 
want to sell to raise it." 

" You can go on and build such a building as you want, as 
far as 3'our mone}' will go, and when 3'ou get to the end of 
it, come and give me a mortgage or bill of sale of the build- 



112 now WE SAVED TILE OLD FAHM. 

ing, and I will let you have enough to finish it. If 3'our 
crops do as well as last 3'ear you will pay for it this fall." 

"Can I do so?" 

" Certainly, or ^-our mother will have to for 3'ou, for 3"0U 
are not of age jet," said the squire. 

" But I do not think she will want to do it," said Clarence. 

" I think she will not object," answered the squire, " for 
you have made the farm and stock worth a thousand dollars 
more than it was when your fiither died, already, and if you 
build a barn it will make it worth jubt as much more. I will 
talk to her about it." 

And ver}' much to my surprise, and to that of Clarence 
also, she gave a read}' consent, sa^'ing : — 

" I have made up my mind, squire, that it is of no use to 
hinder him in doing what he wishes to. He has managed 
wisel}' thus far, and I begin to think m}' judgment must be 
wrong when it goes against his. So go on, and I will sign 
all the papers that are necessar}'." 

The next thing was to find Bill Giles, and I went with 
Clarence the next Saturda}- niglit for that purpose. When 
our errand was stated, Bill said : " I have got a job now that 
I can keep till fall, if I choose, but I can get clear on a 
week's notice, and I will if you need me — and I had rather 
work nearer home just now, and would rather work for j-ou 
than an}' one else." 

" Then, I want you to help me draw a plan, and after that 
I want 3'ou to select the lumber and hire hands enough to 
have it done earl}^ in September," said Clarence. 

"I will," said Bill, " and if we can agree upon a plan now, 
I can order the lumber next week and be read}' to strike 
work week after." 

As Clarence had given the subject considerable thought 
already-, it was not ver3- dhlicult to agree upon enough of the 
plan for Bill to order the lumber b3', and for Clarence to dig 
the cellar b}', and as the plan adopted was subsequentl3' much 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 113 

modified, I will not detail the i^lans discussed, preferring 
to describe the building when finished. The next week the 
boys, with Mike and Jake and two or three others a part of 
the time, were busy digging the cellar for the main barn, and 
laying the cellar wall. As this barn was intended to be 
what the old barn now was, a hay barn, so the cellar under 
it was intended to be a root cellar only, or for storing roots 
and such other things as usually' go into a farm-house cellar. 
The barn was made forty-eight feet long, and thirty feet wide, 
and with twenty feet posts. This was a most unusual height 
for that section, but the required hay-room could he gained 
by increasing the height cheaper than b}' adding to width or 
length. Eighteen and twent^'-two feet were talked of, but 
twenty was finally decided upon as the best height. The 
spot selected was near the old barn, but a little nearer to the 
house. There was a drive-way through the centre of it four- 
teen feet wide and thirty long ; north of that was a bay for 
hay eighteen feet wide and thirty long, occupying tbe whole 
north end of the barn ; south of the drive-way, in the south- 
west corner, was a carriage-room, ten by eighteen feet, with 
a rolling door opening to the west, and another into the 
drive-way, each large enough to drive a carriage through ; 
also a small door on the south end ; from this room a stair- 
way went up to the second stor}', where was a room over the 
carriage-room which was used for a workshop and store-room 
for small tools ; this room was the same size as the carriage- 
room, and had two windows on the south and three on the west, 
and there was a chimne}' came down into it, thus making it 
possible to have a stove in it ; next be^'ond these two rooms 
and the stairwaj's was another bay for ha}', which was four- 
teen b}- eighteen, excepting the room taken up b}' the stair- 
way'. The cellar-stairs went down under the others, and 
were entered b}' a door from the drive-way, and an elevator 
also run from cellar to loft by the side of the stairway, 
vv'hich could be used either from cellar to carriage-room, or 



114 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD fARM. 

to the workshop. There was also a large scuttle in the floor 
of the drive-wa}', which opened nearly over the centre of the 
cellar for greater convenience in putting down roots. Thus 
they could be put down the scuttle-wa}' alid be brought up 
when wanted by the elevator into the carriage-room. In the 
south-east corner was an alleyway, six b}' eighteen, which had 
one window and a door opening to the south. As it was 
intended the old barn should be moved and put on as an 
addition to the new one another season when the hay was out 
of it, the new barn was left unfinished upon the east side as 
far as it was intended for the other to join it. It was made 
tight there, but unfinished opposite to this alleywa}'. The 
sides of the baj^s for hay next to the drive-waj- were all 
boarded up, though doors were made through which the hay 
could be put. These doors (three upon the north side and 
two upon the south side of the drive-way) were divided into 
sections of four feet high, one above another, so that as fast 
as the ha}' was put in, the door opposite it was closed and 
ha}' put in above. Over the drive-wa}' was a scaffold for hay 
fourteen feet square, at each end, thus leaving a space twelve 
feet by fourteen through which to lift the ha}' to the upper 
part of the barn, but even this space was covered with a 
movable platform after the hay was all in, so that from the 
drive-way no hay could be seen upon entering the barn. A 
door at the east end of the drive-way made it possible to drive 
entirely through the barn. Add to this an outside entrance 
to the cellar, upon the south side, and protected from cold 
by a double door at the foot of the stairs, and a " bulkhead" 
door at the top of the stairs, and that the stairway was wide 
enough for two men to walk down with a bushel-basket 
between them, and that wooden boxes, nearly a foot square, 
went up from either end of the cellar through the hay-mow to 
the eaves of the barn, and that a small and inexpensive ven- 
tilator was placed upon the roof, and a window was in each 
end of the barn near the peak of the roof, and a window in 



HO"W WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 115 

each door of the drive- way, and 3'ou have as correct a descrip- 
tion of our new barn as I can give. Although not very pre- 
tentious, 3'et when clapboarded and painted (a light brown, 
with darker trimmings), it was elegant enough to put to 
shame the old house and barn. It was larger and more 
expensive than was needed for the farm just now, but Clar- 
ence said he meant to make the barn fit for the farm as it 
would be rather than as it was now. 

" Well, Mike," said Jake one da}' when the barn was 
nearlj' finished, "had Governor Brown that you was telling 
us of as good a barn as this ? " 

"That he hadn't," answered Mike; " for though he had 
two barns, and aither one cost more than this, yet tiiis is 
worth the two of them. Ye see he got one of those fellows 
from the cit}', what do ye call them, thats make plans for 
houses and barns and sich buildin's, and makes 'em look 
purt}^ on paper?" 

"Architects," suggested Bill Giles. 

" Yes, that's what I mane ; one of them to plan 'em for 
him, and they didn't know no more what was naded to make 
a barn hand}- to work in than Mister Jake here does about 
a ship ; and, sure, a man couldn't do half the work in aither 
of them that he might have done if they had been built by a 
man that knew what it was to take care of horses and cows. 
Iver3'thing was unconvenient-like as it could be." 

" What was the trouble with them, Mike ? " asked Clarence. 

" Well, at the coach-barn, as the}' called the one where he 
kept his horses, half the room was a carriage-room that was 
too wide for one carriage and not quite wide enougli for two, 
on the side of aich other, though it only lacked three inches of 
it, and then 3'ou had to go out of the door and half around 
the barn to get to the room where the horses were ; and then 
there was a root-cellar that ought to have been at the cattle- 
barn, and ye had to take your roots in a basket from the 
hoi'se-stable door and go the length of the barn and go down- 



116 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 

Stairs and just go back the length of the barn again with 
them, to put them in the far corner, under the carriages ; 
and, then, there was a manure cellar under the horses, and 
from that you had to throw the manure out of a little winder 
out of doors, and some of it yer had jist to throw three 
times over before you could get it the length of the cellar so 
as to throw it out of the window. An' then, the hay was 
pitched into a little winder at the end of the barn, and that 
you might carry the whole length of the barn when you fiist 
begun to fill it up. An' then, the cattle barn, — I jist wish 3'ou 
could see that barn, — it was nigh as long as this, but the barn 
flure wasn't in the middle of it; there was a place for the 
cows at one end that was just big enough for them to stand 
in, and it was tight squeezing to go behint one of them, for 
their tails come nigh the boards, and their heads come into 
the barn flure ; an' they eat off the flure, which wasn't as 
high as the flure they stood on b}- the half a foot, so that 
the cows got on their knees to ate. The other ind was for 
hay, an' a fine chance to carry hay to the far ind of that, too ; 
but there was a bit place clear at the far end for the old open 
wagon that he kept for the farmer to ride in, an' the door of 
that was just an inch wider than the wagon, so that ye must 
be sober or yer would hit the side of the door when ye was 
drivin' in, an' the door wasn't high enough to get a kivered 
wagon in at all. An' then, yer could take yer horse out an' 
go round the barn into the 3'ard, an' the horse-stall was in a 
shed, an' there was stalls there for some more cows, an' 3'er 
took hay from the barn flure through the 3'ard, knee-deep in 
mud most of the time, to feed them cows ; an' there was 
room for hay over them, an' that 3^er might throw out of the 
"winder into the mud, or down where the wagon stood, and 
then carr3^ it round. An' then, there was a barn-cellar under 
the end of the barn that was about three feet lower than the 
3^ard, an' that was about three feet deep in water most of the 
time, an' it took a good team to pull a load out of it, yer 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 117 

ma}' be sure. The boss wanted to know one time how I 
could make the barn more convanient to do the work in, an' I 
looked over it an' jist told him I thought the onl}' wa}' was 
to burn it down and build a new one, for sure iverj'thing was 
hind ind foi'eraost." 

And after this lengthy harangue Mike looked as if he was 
still indignant at the thought of the unnecessar}- steps he 
had been obliged to take while there. 

"I should think," said Bill, "that it must have been 
planned on purpose to be as inconvenient as possible." 

" No," said Mike; "'twas planned to look well from his 
house ; that was all. I'd as soon get a man that didn't know 
Ould Hundred from Yankee Doodle to build a planner as one 
of them arkitix fellers to build a barn. Yer might make a 
planner to look nice, Misther Giles, but maybe 'twouldn't 
have the right tune inside of it." 

" This barn is well arranged for doing the work in, or will 
be when Clarence gets the other one put to it, as he calculates 
to have it next summer," said Bill. 

" Well," said Jake, " he has had to do the work in a barn 
enough to know how he wanted it, and he knows that ever}' 
step he can save in a road he must travel three or four times 
a day will save manj'' miles in a year, and he likes to make 
every step and every stroke count." 

Since the cellar was finished Jake and Mike and the others 
had been engaged in rebuilding a part of the old dam in the 
river, so as to raise the water some three feet, thus making 
a fall of about five feet, and in digging a trench from there 
through the barn-^-ard to the house. Luckil}', the right to 
rebuild the dam had belonged to the farm, having been 
bought with it bj' m^* grandfather when he bought the farm, 
and it would not flow any land to much injur}- above our bog- 
meadow, as there was several small falls along the river. 
Mr. Rockwood was kind enough to order an hydraulic ram, 
and about two hundred feet of iron pipe from the city, and a 



118 HOW WE SAVED TILE OLD FAEM. 

man came clown to superintend the setting of the ram. A 
box some six inches square was made by Bill, in which the 
pipe was laid, and a load of sawdust brought from the mill, 
in which the pipe was packed. This box was laid three feet 
deep, and it was thought that depth and the packing would 
effectually protect it from the frost. A hydrant in the barn- 
3^ard supplied water to a trough there, and another was 
brought into the kitchen, so that we had a supply of soft 
water there, without the labor of going to the well for it. I 
confess that mother resisted this as a needless extravagance, 
but in a few months I think she would have rather perferred 
to part with the new barn than with the water, for it saved 
us many steps. But Clarence said it was most valuable for 
the cows, as it would save turning them down to the brook 
in winter, which sometimes was a severe journe}' for them, 
and not always a safe one, as there was risk of their slipping 
in an icy time and hurting themselves badl}^ besides that the 
cold winds and ic}' water often kept them shivering for hours 
after they came in. He meant before fall to so fix tlie trough 
that water should not freeze in it, he said ; and he and Bill 
made, before he left, a double cover, which would shut closely 
over the trough. It was made double, with a packing of saw- 
dust between the top and bottom, two inches thick, which Bill 
said cold air would never get through. This was put on the 
ti'ough with hinges, so as to be in readiness for winter. The 
sides and ends of the trough were also inclosed in the same 
way at a small cost, and arrangements made to let the water 
run off in very cold nights, to further insure against accidental 
freezing. 

During the time while this work was being done, Clarence 
had been obliged to take his men off several times to help 
about the hoeing and getting garden vegetables for his cus- 
tomer, but all was finished at last in time for cutting the 
second crop of ha}-. And this second crop was ncarl}- as 
large as the first, especially from the fields upon the west side 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 119 

of the road. He calculated that he had ten tons of oat-fod- 
der and fifteen tons of hay in the old barn and sheds, besides 
about foLU' tons of bog-hay stacked in the yard, and Jake es- 
timated the second crop of hay at nearly ten tons more, but 
Clarence thought it would weigh less ; but for feeding it 
might be called as good as ten tons of hay. The r3'e was 
also brought into the new barn and stored there in readiness 
for threshing when it came time for doing so. So crops 
matured and were harvested ; more gi'ound in the pasture was 
ploughed and sowed to r3'e ; little pigs came and were sold, 
and two which were reserved from the spring's litter were 
fattened and killed, the three which were kept the previous 
fall having given us twenty pigs this fall, besides the twenty- 
three which were reared b}' the two old sows. The eight 
cows had given us an abundant suppl}' of milk and butter 
through the summer and were still giving a liberal amount, 
being well supplied with corn-fodder, cabbage leaves and 
turnip leaves ; the eight calves and the four heifers had 
thriven well, while our two cosset lambs were far superior 
even to any of the squire's. And so time crept on slowly at 
times, and again it flew swiftly b}', even as we were looking 
ahead at the future or enjoying the present. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

But during all this time I have neglected our boarders, 
although they played no small part in our household econ- 
omy, and their wants occupied not a little of my time. As 
I have said, the}' came to us in the latter part of May, and 
they remained until about the middle of November. Mrs. 
Benson and little Jessie were as pleasant and kind to us as 
before. Mrs. Vining was not always pleasant, as she was 



120 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

a little given to fault-finding, and had much of the arrogant, 
self-asserting wa}' which some rich people have, who fancy 
that everything can be bought for money, and who care little 
and are not accustomed to think of the needs or cares of 
their servants, and it was evident that she looked at us all as 
her servants, who had nothing to do but attend her call 
and supply her wants. Of course, we expected to do that 
which we were paid for doing, but it was not alwaj-s as easy 
to do that which she commanded us to do as it would have 
been if we had been asked in a different manner. And she 
was very apt to expect other services from us at a time when 
all our attention was required upon the important subject of 
preparing the food. Add to this that she was all the time rail- 
ing at the lack of conveniences to which she had been accus- 
tomed at home : because there was no library ; because she 
could not find a particular shade of silk in that little store at 
tlie Corners ; because the church was so small and the seats 
so hard ; because there was no society ; in short, because the 
country was not the cit}', and that she vented ever}- fit of 
ill-humor upon the first one she met whom she dared to 
attack (for she stood in awe of her daughters), which was 
usually my mother or me, and you will acknowledge that she 
was not a pleasant mistress for the wife of a farmer who had 
usually been mistress in her own house. 

Mrs. Rock wood was easier to please, if not more pleasant, 
and as she spent much time on the road in her carriage, and 
other time in reading or taking care of her little daughter 
(who was almost as disagreeable as her grandmother), we 
had but little trouble to take for her beyond preparing her 
meals. Miss Annie Vining rode, read, and slept b}- turns, 
and manifested about as much life and animation in one as 
the other. Miss Henrietta, on the contrary, was all anima- 
tion ; she rode with Mrs. Rockwood ; she rode with Clarence, 
in the horse-wagon or ox-cart, thougli she could not be eas}' 
long riding with the oxen, for the}* were too slow ; she 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 121 

watched the men about their work ; she tormented the calves 
and chased the pigs ; she made the acquaintance of every- 
body in the neighborhood, all with a zeal and energ}- that 
was a torment to her mother and Miss Annie ; to the former 
because she was not more ladylike ; to the latter because it 
tired her, or seemed to, to watch an3'thing which had more 
life tlian herself. Mr. Benson and Mr. Rockwood came every 
Saturday night. The former social and pleasant as ever, the 
latter grave and quiet, but improving upon acquaintance. 

One Sunday evening, when there had been a heavy thun- 
der-shower, I was sitting on the front stairs with Jessie in 
my lap, watching the sunset as it burst out in all its glory 
beneath the scattering clouds, when Mrs. Vining began, — 

" I am glad that is over at last. It seems as if I never 
heard such thunder. If I get back to the cit}' alive you will 
not catch me spending another summer in the country if I can 
have my wa}'. Nothing but thunder, and rain, and wind, and 
fog, and blazing sunshine, and dust all the time." 

" All of those all the time, mother? " asked Nettie, saucily 
laughing. 

" Some one of them every da}', or something else as dis- 
agreeable," said Mrs. Vining, with what I should have called 
a snap in her tone. 

I was wondering what sort of weather would please her, 
if she thought all those that she had mentioned disagreeable, 
when I heaixl Mrs. Rockwood suggest, — 

" You might go back to the cit}' to-morrow morning with 
John, if you are so tired of remaining here, mother." 

" Yes, I don't doubt you would be glad to get rid of me, 
and have me live in that great house all alone, and take care 
of it, and looli: after those saucy servants, while 3'ou enjoj^ed 
yourself, and Nettie ran wild through the fields here. She 
would be in the top of the apple trees next time, and break 
her neck the first I should know of her." 

" That reminds me, ma," said Nettie, " I am sure there is 



122 HOW \VE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

a robin's nest in the top of that great apple-tree, and I mean 
to go up to-morrow and see if there are any eggs in it." 

" Nettie, don't do it," said Miss Annie ; "just think how 
3'ou will look up in that tree, a great girl as you are." 

" Don't I look well anywhere ? " laughed Nettie. " I wish 
you could have seen how I looked yesterday riding Mr. 
Hardy's old white horse in the cornfield. Mr. Hard}' said I 
was ' handsome as a picter,' and I suppose I was." 

" And who is Mr. Hard}-? " asked her mother. 

" He is the man that keeps the poor-house down here ; just 
the joUiest man you ever saw — talks all the time, and doesn't 
give me a chance to say a word." 

"What were you doing at the poor-house ?" asked her 
sister. 

" Wanted to see what it was like. You know mother used 
to say our extravagance would bring us to the poor-house, 
so I wanted to see if I could stand it when we came there. 
When I first went there Mr. Hardy was scolding at an awful 
rate at an old man, because he had not cut more wood ; 
called him 'good for nothing, laz3--lilve,' and said he 'didn't 
earn the salt for his porridge,' and I don't remember the rest 
of it. I thought I had heard some scolding, but I never heard 
a man scold before, and I was listening, and the old man sat 
down on the wood-pile to listen and laugh, just as if he didn't 
care at all. And then a great, stout old woman opened the 
door and just said, ' Jack, water,' and he jumped as if he was 
scared, and went to drawing water as if at work for his life, 
and she kept him at it for two hours. But Mr. Hardy 
looked around and saw me and wanted to know what he 
could do for me, and I told him that I had come to see what 
a poor-house was like. So he showed me all over it, ^nd 
talked all the time to me or somebod}' else, and when we 
came out I asked him what he should put me to doing if I 
was obliged to come there, and he said he ' guessed he should 
make me ride horse to harrow out the corn ; ' then I told him 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 123 

that I wanted to try it and see how I liked it ; so he put me 
on the horse and I rode till night, and jolly fun it was, too." 

" I should think you would be ashamed, Henrietta," said 
her mother, peevishly. 

" Why, didn't I hear last spring, before we came down, 
about the nice people around here? I want to get ac- 
quainted with them ; I know some of them now. There is 
Mr. Hardy and Jake, and Mike, and old Mrs. Butts and her 
two gals, as she calls them. I want j'ou to go there some 
da}', Annie, and see what you and I will look like when we 
are old maids and live with ma, and keep cats and take snuff, 
and all that," and the little torment laughed, parti}- at the 
memory of the two sisters and parti}', I thought, at the look 
of disgust which I knew was upon Annie's face. 

And she had made the acquaintance not only of Mr. 
Hardy, but of every one else in the neighborhood ; roaming 
about at will, and not at all bashful, she would do and say 
things which would have been called rude and unladylike in 
a country girl, yet she seemed to make every one like her 
with one exception, and that was our old friend Jake. One 
day when Jake had called at the kitchen upon some errand, 
she passed through and made some laughing remark to Jake, 
then stopped to pet Rover. When she went out Jake looked 
up to mother, saying, "Curious it is, ma'm, how different 
things seem to most folks, when the one that does *em is 
dressed fine and looks stylish, or when it is somebody in rags 
and dirt. If one of the gals about here was to act as she 
does, folks would call her a saucy, spiteful, ill-mannered 
tomboy ; but as it's a city miss she does as she pleases and 
every one is ready to laugh, and call her smart gal. It 'pears 
as if she bewitched them all." 

"You are too severe, Jacob," said my mother ; "she is 
only young, idle, and free from care, and it makes her as 
frolicsome as a kitten." 

" That's just what she makes me think of," said Jake, 



124 now WE sa\t:d tiie old f.vrm. 

"and I never did like kittens. They frolic and play pretty 
enoiigli when the}' are little, and purr around one as nice as 
can be ; but by and by they are cats, and have sharp claws 
and cruel teeth, an' bite an' scratch an' torment ever3'thing 
that they can get their claws onto. I never see a cat that 
wouldn't steal, nor one that wasn't cruel, nor one that was 
true even to the best friend it had. This is a pretty kitten 
enough now, but she could torment a mouse if she got one in 
her power, and would scratch the hand that feeds her if the 
feed didn't come fast enough. If you don't believe that she's 
a cat, ma'am, just 3-ou watch Rover when she comes a-purrin' 
'round him. Looks just as he does when Polh' Butts tries to 
make her cat lie down side of him. He knows what's good 
manners too well to say a word in the house, but he looks 
about half 'shamed to have her so near him, half afraid that 
she'll scratch his face afore he knows it, and all over mad be- 
cause he mustn't take her and shake her. That's just the 
way he looks at that gal, and 1 never saw him look so at no 
human bein'. You won't catch him waggin' his tail when 
she come nigh him, as he docs for Miss Alice. I tell 3'ou a 
dog knows a cat on two legs as well as if they had four." 

" 1 hope you and Rover are mistaken for once, Jacob," said 
my mother very gravely. 

" I hope we are too," said Jake, " for the sake of the mice ; 
but I never knew Rover to get mistaken. I might be, but I 
would risk m^' life on him. So if you set any store b}^ your 
mice just keep them out of her clutches, if j'ou can. If you 
don't she'll play with them awhile, and then they'll feel her 
claws and teeth." And with the last word he quietly walked off. 

I do not know what effect Jake's words had upon my 
mother, but they created a misgiving in my mind that was 
not easil}' dispelled. It was impossible to mistake the mean- 
ing of Jake's significant warning, for the pleasure which 
Clarence felt in Miss Nettie's societ}- was plain for us all to 
observe, and as he was now a fine, manly lad of eighteen, I 



HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 125 

acknowledge that I had built some air-castles in regard to 
them. I could not saj' that I really liked Nettie, but I ad- 
mired her exceedingly, and as she appeared to have as much 
fondness for Clarence's society as he had for hers, I had 
thought it possible that some time in the distant future, when 
we should have paid that mortgage and improved the farm 
so as to make it a suitable residence for such a fine lady, 
then I might be called upon to welcome her as a sister. But 
was she as fond of him as she seemed? Would she pla^- with 
him and torment him as a cat does a mouse ? I tried to talk 
with mother about it, but could get no satisfaction from her. 
" You are not old enough to think of such things, Alice, and 
it is of no use for you to worry your head about Jake's non- 
sense. He is very likel}' mistaken, and if not, I hope 
Clarence is old enough and wise enough to take care of him- 
self, or he must learn the lesson that other people have had 
to learn." This was all she would sa}- to me al)out it, but I 
felt very sure she had a long ,talk with Clarence that night 
after I was sent to bed, for I could see that he ratlier avoided 
Nettie after that, and tliat he watched her closely when in her 
company. But much of this had worn off by the first of 
October, when George Benson and Henr}' Farnham joined 
us. Mr. Benson and Mr. Rockvvood also remained with us 
much of the time after they came, only making occasional 
trips to the cit}' to attend to business. 

Now, the gay, romping Nettie appeared at times in a new 
character. Although I was too busy to watch her very closely, 
I could see that she endeavored to attract favorable notice 
from Henry. She read his books, although I had not seen 
her take a book in hand since she came until Henry 
came. She walked with him and talked to him to the utter 
neglect of Clarence, for a while, although I thought he had 
little liking for her society. Then, for a change, she neglected 
him and devoted herself to Clarence more attentively than 
before ; I could not fail to perceive that Clarence was ready 



126 HOW Wi: SAVED TliE OLD f ARM, 

to come or go at her bidding, although there was lingering 
mistrust in his mind, which had been raised b}- the words of 
m}' mother or Jake. I was confident that Jake had spoken 
to him at least as plainl}' as he had to my mother, for he was 
not one to see a friend going into danger without giving a 
warning, though he dislilved to speak unfavorabl}' of an^^ one 
Avho had never wronged him. But Clarence was not one to 
be turned from his course by the opinion of others. If he 
had fallen in love wilh this girl he would not be turned from 
her by warning, though he might wait years before putting 
his fate to the test. 

Dcj not, dear reader, sneer at the love of a boy of eighteen 
as "puppy love," as I have heard some do. It is in child- 
hood that we form the purest and most enduring affections of ' 
our life, and if in boyhood and youth and early manhood one 
loves some person whom he afterward learns to look upon 
with different feelings, it is because the one so loved proves 
not what his fanc}' painted. We love people not always for 
what they are, but for what we think them, and if the}" sud- 
denl}' reveal their true characters to us, they are as strangers. 
Love will outlive great changes in the loved one, if they are 
only so gradual as to allow us to become accustomed to 
them. But, I repeat, no love is so enduring as the first, the 
earliest love. 

But during the stay of our boarders things did not change 
between Clarence and Nettie. If she cared for his societ^^ 
she sought it and he showed that he was pleased. If she 
turned the cold shoulder to him neither look nor word showed 
that he felt that he had a right to resent it, and if it wounded 
him, none knew it. This brother of mine was proud, and I 
think Nettie herself knew not whether he felt her neglect or 
not. But my mother and I knew that he liked her well, and 
if he felt no pain at her fickle treatment it was because he 
doubted whether her fits of indillerence were not the result of 
maidenly modest}'. 



HOW \VE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 127 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

At last our boarders were gone. At the end Nettie had 
been gracious, and earnesth' invited Clarence and me to visit 
her at home during the winter. Mr. Benson and his wife 
hud also invited us, but mother had made no promises, 
and Ned's and mine were dependent upon mother's consent. 
After the}' went the harvesting was soon finished, and we pre- 
pared again for our Thanksgiving dinner, at which we knew 
we might expect to receive from Clarence an account of the 
past gear's successes. We knew that we had been successful 
in getting something more than a living, but it was to him 
that we looked for a detailed account of the various waj-s and 
means by which it had been accomplished. He had been 
very busy for a few weeks past, selling and carrying away 
his winter vegetables, or such of them as were marketable, 
and putting into the new root cellar all those which were to 
be kept for our own use or for feeding to tlie cows. He had 
paid off all the labor bills, and had settled the account at the 
store, but we knew not how much money he had left, if any, 
although mother had handed over to him the mone}' which 
had been received for board. But he had his account ready 
for inspection : — 

On hand at last Thanksgiving $377 75 

Rec'd for chickens and fowls 864 40 

Eggs . . .- 382 10 

Pigs 288 00 

Strawberries, currants, etc 216 40 

Peas, beans, sweet-corn, etc 36 70 

Onions 37 50 

Cabbages 183 80 



Amoimt carried forward, $2,386 65 



128 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

Amount hrought forward, §2,386 65 

Kec-'d for I'lO bush, turnips 14-4 50 

70 bush, potatoes 42 00 

1.170 lbs. butter L'ni' ->0 

12 tons rye-str:iw 120 00 

1 10 bush, rve 77 00 

63.0(52 65 

Board 1.3:>2 00 

64,414 Go 

Paid for superphospate and ashes $05 50 

Liimber, boards, and glass for hen-house 84 (50 

Carpenter's labor for hen-house IS 00 

Lumber and boards, etc., for barn (54;> 75 

Carpenter's labor for barn U')5 00 

Mike's labor ".OO (>o 

Other labor, including Mrs. Murphy, girls in 

berries, etc 14;> 80 

Ivam and pipes 84 00 

Labor and expense of man to setting 1 1 50 

Blacksmith's bill, etc o2 50 

Groceries 5(5i5 00 

Fresh meat, fish, etc 2o3 40 

Grain bill, scraps for liens, hogs, etc 382 70 

Seeds and tools, strawberry boxes and crates.. 134 (55 

Interest 3i; 00 

Taxes 5(; 40 

Clothiuii. household utensils 83 50 

3.132 83 

Balance on hand 61,281 82 

" And biue we really almost thirteen huiulred dollars ou 
band?" asked \\xy mother, who had listened to the reading of 
this statement in evident amazement. 

'' "We have, if you will aoeept this paper as proof of five 
hundred dollars of it," said Clarence, as he passed her a 
folded paper. 

*' The mortgage !" I exclaimed as soon as I saw it. 

" Yes, that is the mortgage. I thought 1 would pay it, as 



HOW ^VE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 129 

I saw that I was likely to have money enough left after pay- 
ing it to make such improvements as I want to make this 
winter and next spring. 1 paid it when I paid the squire 
what I borrowed of him to build tlie barn." 

" What do you mean to do with the rest of the money?" 
she asked. 

" There is almost eight hundred dollars now. I am going 
to build an ice-house, or rather a place to keep ice for our 
own use, and a suitable milk-room. 1 do not like this keep- 
ing milk in the cellar in summer time, and I mean to have 
a place just to suit me. Then, there is the old barn to move 
and alter next spring, after the hay is out of it, and I want 
a steam-apparatus to steam feed for cows. All this will 
take money." 

" As you please ; I do not feel that I have any claim on this 
money, and I am well pleased to have this mortgage paid," 
said my mother. " 1 am willing to consider all the rest as 
^•ours, and I am sure that you have done w^ell, both of you, 
to accomplish so much in less than two years." 

" But 3'ou know, mother," said Clarence, "that it is all 
j-ours, for I am not of age yet, but we are working for you ; 
and then j'ou and Alice have earned as much as Ned and I, 
by taking boarders. If it had not been for what j^ou received 
in that wa}' I should not have made much more than last 
year. Now I can sell the old oxen, which are fat enough to 
kill, and get another pair that will gain enough this winter to 
pay for their keeping, as I have not much work for them to 
do, and with m}^ ha}' and corn-fodder I can keep more stock 
than I have now, so I mean to bu}' three more cows, if I can 
find them to suit me, and as I have fattened the old cow and 
shall kill her, that will give us fourteen cows next 3'ear, if the 
four heifers all calve and do well. So you can see that we 
actually need a milk-house." 

" I suppose you have planned it all out," said my mother, 
with a laugh. 



130 HOW WE SA^TSD THE OLD F^VRM. 

" Certainl}'', and have engaged Bill Giles to come next 
week, and told him to get the lumber for it," said Clarence. 

Sure enough, the next week the lumber came, and Bill was 
at work upon it. You ma}' remember that I told 3'ou tliat 
we had a porch at the north-east corner of the house, in which 
was a wash-room and a wood-house. The new building was 
to be put on the north end of it. When it was finished j'ou 
could pass from the old kitchen, which was destined now to 
be a dining-room in the summer, into a kitchen in tiie porch, 
which was finished where the wash-room and part of the 
Avood-house had been ; be^'ond this, going north, 3'ou entered 
a wood-house, with a large agricultural steamer in it at the 
end next the kitchen ; fi'om this steam was carried by iron- 
pipes under ground to the floor of the old barn, for the pur- 
pose of steaming food for the cattle ; a branch also went to 
the watering-trough, and as a simple arrangement controlled 
the steam so that it could be sent either wa\', it was possible 
to warm the water in the trough for the cows as well as to 
steam the hay. Beyond the wood-house was the milk-room, 
which Clarence said cost him more thought and more money 
than anything of its size upon the farm. As I have never 
seen another like it, I wish to be particular in describing it. 
From the wood-house going north, 3-ou passed out upon a 
])iazza four feet wide and eighteen long, from which a door 
entered into a room ten feet wide and eight feet long (count- 
ing the length as going the long way of the building), from 
which a door on the east passed out to another piazza of the 
same size as that on the west side. This room had a churn 
and a butter-worker (for which Clarence sent to the manu- 
facturer's), a large table and a sink; there was a window 
upon each side, and, as the door was half glass, it was well 
lighted. On the north side of the room a door gave admit- 
tance to the milk-room. Tiiis was ten feet square, and was 
furnished with patent pans, four of them, each capable of 
holding the milk of twenty-five cows when full. The floor of 



HOW AYE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 131 

this room was three feet below the other room, and was of 
cement. As there were two windows upon each side, open- 
ing upon the piazzas, this was also light enough, but no sun 
could shine directl}' in except early in the morning, or late in 
the evening. But one of the main features was the roof. 
These two rooms Avere roofed over entirel}' independent of 
the roof of the main building, which was the piazza roof, 
thus leaving room for a free circulation of air between the 
outer roof and the roof of the milk and butter rooms, as they 
were called. There were ventilators opened from each room 
into the space between the two rooms, and one on the outer 
roof, which was not just above either of the inner ventilators. 
This was all ai'ranged that the milk and butter rooms might 
be cool in summer. That the^' might be warm in winter, 
another arrangement was made : closeh'-fitted boards were 
arranged in sections, so that they could be placed between the 
posts of the piazzas, with wiiKlows and doors opposite to 
those within, so that it left them as rooms within a room. A 
branch of the steam-pipe which went to the barn was led into 
these inner rooms, so that at an^- time the}- could be heated 
if necessary, and steam could be used for scalding milk-pails, 
pans, churn, or anj'thing else that needed it. He also made a 
connection with the water-pipe which led to the house, so that 
water might be drawn at the sink in the butter-room, or al- 
lowed to run around the milk-pans when necessary to cool 
the milk. Be3'ond the milk-room was the ice-house, eighteen 
feet wide and fifteen long, with double walls, filled with 
sawdust and shavings from the mill. This had onlj' a door 
at the north end. Small holes in the end near the peak of the 
roof allowed for ventilation. None of these buildings, or 
rooms rather, for it was all one building and a continuation 
of the old porch, were built in anything more than the plain- 
est manner, but of good stock. While Bill was at work upon 
it, Clarence had exchanged our fat oxen for lean ones, receiv- 
ing forty dollars difference ; had killed and salted the fat cow ; 



132 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FARM. 

had killed the three fat pigs and sold thirty-five dollars worth 
of pork from them, besides salting enough to last us a year, 
for we were not great eaters of pork ; had bought tln-ee more 
cows, and also had bought forty 3'oung sheep of the squire. 
Had also bought a quantity of grain and beef-scraps to feed 
cows, hogs, and hens, that he miglit save our corn till later 
in the year. When the building was finished, and boxes and 
troughs made in the barn for steaming feed for cattle, he as- 
tonished me one evening b}' declaring that he was nearly out 
of money, and 3'et owed Bill Giles over an hundred dollars. 

" What are 3-ou going to do for money ? " asked mother. 

" I think I can get along with the little that I have until 
I can get some more for eggs or butter. Bill does not feel in 
an}' hurry for his pay, as he has been doing ver^- well lately, 
and he would be just as well satisfied to have it in m}' hands 
and draw interest on it as to have the money now, he sajs," 
said Clarence. 

"I think William has improved very much since he first 
began to work here," said mother. 

" He has. He says he has not taken a glass of liquor for 
over a 3'ear, and doesn't want it at all, and he works steadil}' 
and saves monej", and I think his wife is much more help to 
him about doing so than she was two j-ears ago," answered 
Clarence, " and for that he thinks he is indebted to 3'ou." 

" What do you intend to do this winter?" I asked, 

" The care of the stock and hens, and helping make the 
butter, and getting home wood, and getting read}' for the 
spring work will take up m}' time and Mike's pretty closel}', 
you ma}' be sure," he answered. " I intend to go to Boston 
a few days before long to look after some new tools that 1 
shall want next year, but 1 cannot be away long for there is 
too much to look after here." 

" You may stay as long as you please," said Ned ; " Mike 
and I can take care of the stock." 

" Thank you, but I do not need to stay long," he replied. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 133 

" Before I go I must get the cows to having steamed feed and 
see if we can make a little butter. We ought to with steamed 
feed and grain, and a good milk-room to keep milk in." 

After that, ever}' morning the fire was lighted under the 
steamer before they went to the barn. By the time thej^ had 
milked and attended to the other chores, the corn-fodder in 
the steam-box was well steamed, and then the steam was 
turned on a pipe which led to the tub in which he kept feed 
for the hogs, and while that was getting warm they were mix- 
ing grain with the warm, moist corn-fodder and feeding the 
cows. Then the hogs were fed, and the steam turned upon 
the watering-trough, so that b}' the time the cows had fin- 
ished their breakfast they were let out to drink the warm 
water. At noon they had a feed of hay which was not cut, 
and in the afternoon the steamer was put at work again in 
about the same order as in the morning, excepting that they 
were fed and watered before being milked, and they had 
another feed of long ha}^ after milking. 

" Sure," said Mike, " it is Christians they must think the}' 
are, wid their hot breakfasts and their hot ta}' in the trough." 

" Well, Mike," said Ned, " they pay for it like Christians, 
don't they?" 

And they did pay for it, I think, for such quantities of 
milk from cows at that season of the year, and such thick, 
jellow cream upon it, mother said she had never seen before. 
And the butter was very near as good color as we had made 
in the summer ; good enough, at an}- rate, so that the store- 
keeper said he would take all that we had to spare, and pay 
as much as he had in the summer, or a little more. Nor was 
the increase in milk and butter the onl}- advantage of the 
warm food and drink, for the cows, although well-fed and 
taken care of in previous winters, had never looked so smooth 
and fat as they soon began to after the steamer was put to 
work. Clarence said they eat much less corn-fodder and hay 
than they did last winter. The hogs also were thriving well, 



134 now VTE SAYED THE OLD FARM. 

and the sheep, although they did not get steamed food, yet 
seemed most grateful for their turn at the trough of warm 
water, and we expected to have a fine lot of lambs and wool 
to sell from them. The pullets furnished a liberal supply of 
eggs all winter, and, in February, Clarence began again to 
prepare for his early chickens. But it was in Januar}' that 
Clarence made his visit to Boston, and although some busi- 
ness was to be attended to, yet I thought the hope of seeing 
Nettie had a strong influence in determining him to attend to 
it in person instead of writing or entrusting it to Mr. Benson. 
When he returned he was ver\- free in describing his kind re- 
ception by Mr. and Mrs. Benson, and the sights he had seen, 
and the business he had done, but not a word about Nettie 
until I inquired if he had seen her. 

"Yes, I met her on the street near Mr. Rockwood's one 
day," he answered, coolly, as if it were the most ordinary' 
thing to have met her. 

'• Did she seem pleased to see you?" I asked, a little ma- 
liciously I acknowledge, for I knew b\' his manner that he 
cared not to say much about it. 

" Perhaps she was," be said, " but she looked at me as if 
she did not know me at first, until I spoke to her, and then 
she recognized me. and inquired after j'ou all, and the neigh- 
bors, and wanted to know why I didn't get Jake or Uncle 
Tom Hardy to come with me, she should so like to see them 
staring about them and into the shop-windows, and see how 
their country fashions would look in the city, and then she 
and the young lady that was with her laughed, as if the idea 
was something very comical, and I thought it might be that 
I was showing them a specimen of countrv fashions as laugh- 
able to them as Uncle Tom Hard}- would, so I wished them 
good-day. and left them. I made up my mind that any one 
who could laugh at Uncle Tom Hard}- or Jake, because they 
had not lived in the city and learned city manners, was too 
fashionable to be seen upon the street in the city with me ; 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD F^VRM. 135 

and if that is city manners I tliink I like countiy manners 
better," and mj- brother started to the barn to examine the 
stock there, hoping for a better welcome from them than he 
had received from Nettie. After he went out mother simph' 
said, " It may be bitter for him, but I hope it will be 
wholesome." I certainl}- felt indignant against her, but re- 
flection convinced me that she had been pleasant and polite 
while she was with us, and it might be that I had been fool- 
ish to think that she had intended to be more than that, and 
as Clarence did not seem to feel ver^' badl}' about his recep- 
tion after the first bitter remark that he had made, I soon 
hoped that he had felt less strongly attracted toward her than 
I had supposed. I ventured once to express to him a part 
of my indignation at her not having given him a more cordial 
reception, but he laughed, and with a pull at my ear, said, 
" You know, sis, Jake saj's she is a kitten, and kittens have 
short memories for their friends, and besides that 3'ou must 
remember that with some people friends are like coats, — 
those which are nice and comfortable in the woods are not 
such as we want to exhibit in society. I have no fault to 
find, for I knoAV I was out of style among her fine friends. 
If she come back here next summer I dare say we shall be 
good friends again." 



CHAPTER XIX. 

" Well, Mrs, Reynolds," said Jake, as he came in one 
night in January', as we sat in the new kitchen, " I thought 
I would just drop in and see if you had got too proud with 
your new buildings to speak to your poor neighbors." 

" I am ver}' proud of them, Jake, and proud of my boys 
for earning them and fixing them so nicelv, but I think I shall 
treat the neighbors just as well as before," said m}* mother, 
laushiuff. 



136 HOW WE SAVED TIIE OLD FAEM. 

"We certainly shall not get too proud to speak to j'on, 
Jake," said Clarence, " for you know you gave me my first 
recommendation as farm manager." 

" So I did, and safe enough I was in doin' it, as far as I've 
seen the wa}' you have managed ; but I want to see what new 
wrinkles you have in view, for I've heard down at the Corners 
that you've fixed up like it never was fixed up in these parts 
before. They say that you've got a machine now that you 
turn all your milk into one spout and it comes out of two 
spouts at the t'other end — one spout for butter just as j'aller 
as gold, and t'other for skimmed milk and buttermilk. Jones 
told me, and showed me some of the butter to prove it, and 
sure enough, it was as handsome as ever I laid ej-es on at any 
time of year." 

"Not quite as convenient as that yet, Jacob," said my 
mother, as Clarence laughed at this exaggerated description 
of his labor-saving machinery in the milk-room; "but if 
Clarence could have found such a machine, I suppose he 
would have bought it." 

" Well, that's what they said, and that ^-ou had got a 
steam-engine that fed the cows and milked them, and pipes 
laid to bring the milk right into the house, so that you don't 
do anything only set and tend the fire, and when it comes out 
pleasant, go off and sell the butter." 

" Is that all they had to tell, Jake?" asked Clarence. 

" Well, that's about all I stopped to hear ; thought I had 
better come and see for mj'self," said Jake. 

" You shall see it all before ^-ou leave if you will come out 
with me, b}" and by ; but you will not see anything so very 
wonderful," answered Clarence. 

"That's just what I want," said Jake, and just then we 
heard some one else entering, and to our surprise it proved to 
be Uncle Thomas and Aunt Cynthia. 

After the salutations of the evening had been exchanged. 
Uncle Thomas asked Jake, " What is the news? " 



HOW "VVE SAVED THE OLD FAB.M. 137 

" Well, no great," he answered ; " only old Mrs. Butts is 
prett}' low, and I reckon it's doubtful if the old lady stands it 
a great while. I went in there when I came along, and she 
seems mighty feeble. Don't set up much, and looks miser- 
able ; can't eat nothing much ; and, fact is, I guess she don't 
have just what sick folks ought to eat, anyway. Johnny-cake 
and pork and potatoes are very good for a man to work on, 
but I don't reckon they are exacth' fit for a sick woman, and 
she has got tired of porridge ; says the gals can't make it 
right, though I guess it don't taste right because she is sick ; 
for Polly wanted me to taste of it, and I thought it was first- 
rate. But I was thinking that if some of you women that 
know how to fix up kinder nice little messes would jist carry 
in some little thing that would sorter relish to her, or go there 
and cook up somethin', it might do the old lady a power of 
good," and Jake looked as if he had been begging for himself. 

" Certainly ; I will go down and see her to-morrow, and I 
think I can get her something that shecan eat," said my mother. 

"And j-ou, too, Mrs. Cynthia?" asked Jake. " I know 
you used to be a master hand for cooking up nice notions 
and for making the best jellies and sich things." 

" I don't know as I can make anything as nice as Helen 
can, for I haven't been cooking for city folks," said Aunt 
Cynthia with a little sneer, for she prided herself on her abil- 
ities in that line — a weakness which Jake had skilfully flat- 
tered by his remarks ; " but I will try to send in something." 

" Well, now," said Jake, " I reckon it is kind of 3'ou both, 
but you know she would do as much for j-ou if you Avas sick 
and she could get about. She used to be a good hand to call 
in in case of sickness ; was called worth a dozen doctors 
when babies was sick." 

" What doctor does she have?" asked Uncle Thomas. 

"Don't have any, and says she won't ; says there is just 
one disease that there ain't any yarbs will cure, nor doctor's 
stuif, either, and that is just what ails her now." 



138 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

" What is that, Jake?" I asked. 

" That's the disease that you won't have for sixt}' j'ears to 
come, young lady, thougli your mother and I begin to look- 
for it pretty soon. It's old age, and I reckon that's the dis- 
order that we should all die of, if we lived as we ought 
to. I don't know, though, as Mrs. Cynthia ever will have 
it, for 1 don't see as she grows old a bit for the last twent}^ 
3'ears." 

"But I am sure I feel old enough," said Aunt C3'nthia, 
with a pleased smile, as if conscious of being a well-preserved 
woman of over fift}^ years old. "I think, though, that 
Thomas shows his age more than I do." 

" Well," said Jake, " it stands to reason as he should, for 
I expect 3'ou are too busj' to grow old. You don't stop to 
think about it ; but he hasn't much else to think of when he is 
at work in that shop. I don't calculate it is a fit place for 
any man to work in all winter, doubled up like a half-shet 
jack-knife, over an old boot. Better be in the wood along 
with me, or in the barn with Clarence, taking care of the 
cows or puttering about the hens and pigs." 

" I have been thinking that I did not know but it would be 
best for me to come and work for Clarence as a sort of ap- 
prentice, until I had learned to manage a farm as well as he 
does, and then I might try if I could make a living on my 
own farm. He seems to beat us all," said Uncle Thomas 
with a sigh. 

*' Lots of farmers might learn of him, 1 reckon," said Jake ; 
" for he not onl}' does the work he has learned to do, but he 
thinks a bit for himself and figures out the best wa}' to do what 
he has to do. The ditference between the best way and the 
poorest wa}- is what makes the profit." 

" I don't know but he makes a profit," said Aunt C3-nthia ; 
" but what is the use of that, if he spends it all as fast as he 
makes it? Seems to me it must have cost a dreadful 
sight of mone3' since he took the farm — so much build- 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 139 

ing, and fixing up, and hiring help, and buj'ing that stuff 
to put on the kind, and buying so much grain, and all 
that." 

" But the farm has paid for it all, Aunt C^'nthia," said 
Clarence, "and is now in shape to pa}' for more improve- 
ments when I want them." 

" AVhat more improvements do 3^ou want, unless it is to 
paint up the old iiouse and fix it a little?" she asked. 

"I have considerable more to do yet, and I mean to do it 
as fast as I can pay for it," he answered. 

" Well, I suppose you think you know best, but I should 
put some of the mone}' where I could get it when I wanted 
it, and where it would draw a little interest, if I was man- 
ager," she said. 

"• I think it paj's better interest to put it in the land than 
it would if in the bank," said Clarence. " Now I get a good 
interest for land and money too, but if I put the mone}^ in 
the bank the land would not pay anything." 

" You have not seen our new rooms in the porch j'et, have 
3-ou, Cynthia?" asked m^- mother for the sake of changing 
the conversation. 

" I have not, but I would like to ; for I have heard that it 
is something v/onderful nice and handy," she said. 

" It is not so very nice, but it is ver}' convenient, and 1 am 
pleasied Avith it ; for it shows that Clarence wants to make his 
mother's work eas}', as well as his own." 

Then, after exhibiting the new sink in the room we were in, 
witli its inpe for bringing in soft water, and its convenient 
raclc'for draining dishes on when washed, and the slide-door 
for passing dishes through into the pantr}', we went into the 
wood-room, where the steam-kettle stood, and Clarence ex- 
l)lained its use and the benefit of having warm food and drink 
for the cows and hogs. Then into the alle^'way in front of 
the milk and butter rooms (which in warm weather could be 
made a pleasant piazza) and into the butter-room, where the 



140 now WE SAVED THE OLD F.VRM. 

new churn and butter-worker were critically examined. As 
there was a quantity- of butter there from the last churning 
which had not been sent awa}-, Aunt Cynthia exclaimed at 
its excellent color. 

*' That is in part owing to the cows being Alderney, part 
to good feed, and part to a good place to keep the milk, but 
that is not all," said Clarence ; " when I was in Boston I 
bought a little of the stuff folks used to color cheese with, 
which the}- call annatto or annotto, and I steep a little of 
that and color the salt with it, so that it will be about the 
color of brown sugar. That makes the butter always just 
one color, as near as need be, for the working the salt in 
works the color in too." 

" I should be afraid it waspizen, or that it would make the 
butter taste bad," said Aunt Cynthia. 

"It is warranted not to contain an3-thing that will hurt 
anybody, and as for the taste, I think it tastes a little better 
for it. Mother cannot tell the difference between that which 
is colored and that which is not, with her caxs shut, but I 
can tell which I get the first time trying," said Clarence. 

" Yes ; the first time," laughed Ned, " but not the second 
time." 

" No ; after I have tasted of one kind, I cannot tell the 
difference again until the taste gets fairly out of my mouth," 
he said. 

" Here is some that is not colored," said ni}- mother. 
"This was a part of the same churning, but was salted by 
itself with salt that was not colored." 

" That is good-looking winter butter," said Aunt Cynthia ; 
" but the other looks almost like June butter." 

" Taste of the light-colored first, and then of the other," 
said Clarence. 

She did so, and so did Uncle Thomas and Jake. 

" I declare," said Aunt Cynthia, " I believe the yellow but- 
ter does taste the most like grass butter. I am afraid you 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 141 

are playing a trick on me, and that is butter tliat 3'ou made 
last summer." 

" Ask mother, if you can't believe me," said Clarence, with 
a laugh at the suspicion of our aunt. Mother assured her 
that it was as Clarence had said. 

" Well," said she, " I own up that the yellow butter tastes 
the best and looks the best, but I should rather have the other, 
that hadn't an3-thing in it that I did not know about. It 
ma}' be a foolish notion, and perhaps I should get over it if I 
had used the stuff a while." 

Then we passed into the milk-room, where they all exam- 
ined, with much curiosit}-, the new pans which held the milk. 
Aunt Cj'nthia liked them, it being so little trouble to wash 
them and to draw off the milk from them after skimming ; 
while Clarence explained the arrangements by which he hoped 
to keep an even temperature there both summer and winter, 
never being too hot or too cold for the milk to keep sweet or 
the cream to rise well. Then he went with Jake and Uncle 
Thomas to examine the ice-house, while the rest of us re- 
turned to the house. When they came in, Jake was saying, — 

" Farmin' now aint what it was when 3-ou and I were boys, 
Thomas. If a man has mone}' to bu}' tools with, just the 
best there is in the market, a boy, or a lazy man like me, 
can do more than two smart men used to. He can ride round, 
and mow his grass and rake it, and stand in the wagon while 
the horse puts it into the mow, and not la}^ out as much 
strength as we used to in swinging the scythe one forenoon, 
besides doing as much again of it. His ploughs and his 
hoes, and most all his tools, are as light as playthings side 
of them they had fift}' 3'ears ago. His cows make more 
butter, his hogs make more pork and eat less corn, and I 
don't see no reason why he can't make money now, if folks 
then could make a living." 

" But all these things cost so much money," said Aunt 
Cynthia. "This steaming your hay, and these new things 



142 now WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 

in the milk-room, now, are very nice; but what have they 
cost, and will they pay ? " 

'^ I suppose," said Clarence, " that the first cost of the 
buildings and machinery there will be not far from six or 
seven hundred dollars, including ice-house. I could tell 
exactlj' if it were not for the other work in this room. But 
we will call it seven hundred dollars ; interest and repairs we 
will call ten per cent., and it will cost not more than thirty 
dollars to run the steam all winter, which will be an hundred 
dollars a j-ear. Now, we have been making about two hun- 
dred pounds of butter to a cow, at twent3'-five cents a pound, 
which is fifty dollars. I mean now to make two hundred and 
fifty pounds to a cow, if I can, and 1 hope to get fort}' cents 
a pound for the butter, which will be just an hundred dollars to 
a cow, and on the fourteen cows that I shall have this year, 
will be seven hundred dollars more than we got from them 
before. That is what I am trying for. But 3"ou see that if 
I make thirt}' pounds more to a cow and sell at the old price, 
I shall make it pay. Besides that, it does not take so much 
fodder to keep the cows fat as it did before we began steam- 
ing it, and I think that saving, with the saving of work to 
mother, will pay the cost of running the steamer. She can 
tell you how much more milk the cows give than they did 
before, and how much easier the butter comes." 

"She has been telling me," said Aunt Cynthia; "but it 
seems scarceh' possible that you can make as much as j'ou 
calculate on." 

"Clarence figures pretty shrewdly," said Jake, "or he 
couldn't have paid for all these things and paid the mortgage 
in two 3"ears. That's what I call the real test of farming. I 
allow now that this farm is actually worth, with the stock and 
tools on it, at least three thousand dollars more than it was 
when Clarence took it, and that's a pretty good show for two 
years, though I know that Mrs. Re3'nolds and the gal have 
helped it along amazingly with their boarders." 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 143 

" We have been willing and glad to help," said my 
mother ; " but the boj's have made more than we have, for 
after taking out the cost of their food it does not leave a very 
great profit." 

^' For my part," said Uncle Thomas, " I must sa}"- that I 
can't see how 3'Ou have done it. I guess I shall have to come 
to you to learn." 

" If you think you can learn an^'thing from me, Uncle 
Thomas, I will give j^ou a chance to learn, and pa}' you for 
it, besides," said Clarence. " I have been thinking for 
some time tliat if I could find some one to attend to the 
chores whom I could trust to do them as 1 want them done, 
or as I would do them m^-self, it would allow me to do 
more work on the farm. It would be light work, just suited 
to you, and I could pay as much for it as I would for harder 
work." 

"What would I have to do?" asked Uncle Thomas. 

" Help milk in the morning and at night, feed and water 
cows, calves, sheep, horses, and hens. Take care of chickens 
and calves, if we raise more this ^ear, as I intend to. Help 
mother churn and work butter. If 3'ou have an}' spare time 
after all that you can do hoeing or other light work ; but I 
want somebody who will do all of that every day, so that 
Mike and Ned and I need not be bothered with it." 

Very much to my surprise. Uncle Thomas seemed to like 
the idea, and Aunt Cynthia encouraged him in it, and a bar- 
gain was made by whicli he was to begin in March and work 
a year, simply reserving the privilege of staying away a few 
days when he wished to, to take care of his own garden and 
cut his grass. He intended to sell all but a cow and pig and 
put all his land into grass. So now we had two hired men, 
or would have in the spring, for Mike was already engaged 
for the next year and was to be kept busy through the win- 
ter. Nor did there seem to be any lack of business for them, 
for Clarence was busy with Mike and Ned every day, draw- 



144 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

ing wood and fitting it for the stove, drawing out manure 
and drawing in mud when the weather allowed, drawing sand, 
mending and painting wagons and tools in rainy days. 



o»=:o 



CHArTER XX. 

When the spring opened, work began in earnest, for Clar- 
ence had determined upon certain improvements which he 
intended to make carl}' in the 3'ear, even if he was not ready 
to pay for them as soon as completed, which had been his 
custom heretofore. But having obtained the reputation of a 
prompt and sure pa3'master, and having a sure prospect of 
receiving money early in the season from the sale of chick- 
ens, pigs, berries, eggs, and butter, besides the prospect of 
boarders, he felt justified in finishing his changes as earl}' as 
he could. 

The first job undertaken was the long-talked of one of 
clearing off the rocks in the field back of the barn, the four- 
acre field, and setting out an orchard there. Jake's services 
were obtained to assist in the drilling and blasting of the 
rocks, at which he was an expert. Luckil}' tlie rocks were 
mostly small boulders, and it was not so large an undertak- 
ing as it looked. Soon it was finished, and the next thing 
was the measuring and marking for the trees, and digging 
the holes. P2xtra labor was engaged for this, for time began 
to be precious, and there were many holes to dig. lie had 
planned for one hundred and twenty apple trees, thirt}' pear 
trees, and ten cheny trees. These were all of the large grow- 
ing varieties and were set two rods apart. Among them, 
and one rod apart from each other and from the larger trees, 
were fort}' dwarf pear trees, fort}' of the smaller growing 
cherries, eighty quinces, forty plums, and two hundred and 
eighty peach trees. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAHM. 145 

Thus upon the four acres were to be set six hundred and 
forty trees. He hoped to get crops enough from the smaller 
trees before the apple and other large trees were grown so 
as to interfere with them, so that he could afford to "cut them 
down if it became necessary. The cherries and plums were 
put at the edge of the field next the hennery ; the quinces 
upon the low ground toward the river. Between the outer 
row and the wall were set an hundred grape vines, and about 
ten dozen of blackberries and raspberries, while currants and 
gooseberries were set to the number of twenty-five dozen 
between the rows of trees running north and south along the 
edge of the field next the barn, three currants or gooseberries 
being put between each two trees. 

Although this filled but a small part of the rows, Clarence 
said it was as many as he desired to put in this j'ear, though 
he might fill all the rows another year if he thought best, 
either by buj'ing more plants or by taking cuttings from 
those which he had. While the others were digging the holes 
for the trees, Clarence, having obtained the company of the 
squire, went to a large and well-known nursery, and the^' 
not onl}' selected their trees, but saw that the}' were carefully 
taken up and handled, and properl}' packed for transporta- 
tion. The squire's judgment and advice was invaluable to 
him, he said, and not only that, but by his influence he was 
able to get his trees at a much lower price on account of tak- 
ing so many ; but even then he found that his orchard had 
cost him nearly four hundred dollars besides the labor which 
he and Ned, Mike and Uncle Thomas had done. 

While this work was being done. Bill Giles had been at 
work again on the house. He had put in new windows of a 
larger and more modern style ; had finished the rooms in the 
attic, and had built a piazza along the front or west side, and 
another across the north end of the house which connected 
with that upon the west side of the milk-room. When this 
was finished, a gang of men from Staniford came on and 



146 HOW VTE SAVED TILE OLD F^VRM, 

painted the house and the new barn, and put on new green 
blinds. The house was not painted white, but a sort of 
brown with the trimmings a shade darker. When it was all 
finished I could not help thinking we looked as stylish, out- 
side, at least, as any of our neighbors. 

This cost Clarence nearly' three hundred and fifty dollars, 
and mother was a little inclined to look at it as mostly un- 
necessary expense ; but Clarence said we owed it to ourselves 
and our coming boarders to look a little smarter than we had 
done, and as he began to talk about new carpets aud furni- 
ture, mother was glad to compromise by saying nothing 
against the work on the buildings if he would not refurnish 
for another year at least, nor then, unless he could afford to 
do it without running in debt. We had already the offer of 
more boarders than we had house-room for, all those who 
were there the previous summer excepting Mrs. Vining, who 
had gone to live with a brother (for which I certainly was 
not sorry), having engaged to come again in Ma}-. Her 
place, and that of George Benson and Henry Farnham, were 
taken by Mr. and Mrs Harris and the two Misses Dunbar 
— the latter two, maiden ladies of ver}* uncertain age, the 
former two a retired merchant and wife. He had been 
brought up on a farm, but had spent fifty years in trade, 
and now desired to spend his summer quietly in the country, 
and his winter in the cit}', without care or anxiety, he 
said, excepting in regard to the flavor of his coffee and the 
crispness of his toast. This insured us an income from 
boarders of sixt3--nine dollars a week. Before thej' came 
Clarence requested Mr. Benson to order for us a supply of 
groceries from the wholesale store in the cit}', his venture in 
that wa}- last jear having proved most favorable. 

But the farming was still to be carried on, and as soon as 
the orchard was finished it was planted to potatoes. Two 
acres of the five around the house were put in garden vege- 
tables, and the other three in field-corn. The old garden 



HOW ^VE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 147 

across the road was now entirely in strawberries and other 
small fruits. Then, a ten-acre field in the pasture was 
ploughed and three tons of superphosphate were harrowed 
in there, and an acre and a half of it set to cabbages ; two 
and a half being sowed to turnips, and the rest, six acres, 
being put in corn. 

The orchard and the house-field had been libei-allj- ma- 
nured with manure from the yards ; but Clarence had also 
bought all the ashes he could get and used them in the hills 
for potatoes and around the hills of corn and upon the gar- 
den when hoeing. The hens had given us liberall}' of eggs ; 
the pigs (of which we had five litters or fort3'^-eight pigs) 
had been sold, and, as Clarence said, was not enough to sup- 
ply the demand, for his pigs had a great reputation. There 
were about five hundred chickens growing and fift^'-three 
lambs, all thrifty ; while the cows and heifers were likely to 
suppl}' us with calves to raise and milk to take care of as 
much as we should want to attend to. 

But before au3thing was done about planting the eight- 
acre field the care of the farm had been given up to Ned 
and Mike for a while, for Clarence was again engaged with 
Bill Giles in moving and fixing up the old barn. A place 
had been prepared for it upon the east side of the new barn, 
joining the south-east corner, b}^ building an underpinning 
for it and filling the space inside with coarse gravel. This 
place was made twentj'-eight feet wide, the width of the old 
barn, and fifty feet long. The old barn was moved upon the 
east end of this, and a new piece twenty feet long, and of 
the same width as the old barn, was built to connect it with 
the new barn. This building, which was to be the cattle- 
barn, thus stood at right angles with the hay-barn, and as tlie 
latter was only eighteen feet wide south of the drive-wa}', and 
it was not desired to bring the north side of the cattle-bara 
quite parallel with the south side of the east entrance to the 
Lay-barn, it was joined on for sixteen feet, thus leaving 



148 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

twelve feet of the west end of the cattle-barn uncovered by 
the ha^'-barn. 

The floor was taken out of the old barn and a floor laid 
over the scallbld beams, thus leaving ample room to stand 
erect in the cow stables, which a man could not do before. 
When the cattle barn was finished you could pass from the 
drive-wa}' of the ha}' barn into the alleywa}' at the south-east 
corner, and, passing through the first door, j'ou entered into 
the horse stables behind the horses. There were three stalls, 
each three and a half feet wide, and two box stalls, each four 
and a half feet wide, which could also be used for sick cows or 
calves when not needed for horses. Be^'ond the horses you en- 
tered into a cow stable where there was room for ten cows. All 
stood with their heads toward the middle of the barn. By 
another door from the same alleyway you entered the allej' way 
between the cows' heads, which was four feet wide, and went 
the whole length of the barn. 

On the south side was another cow-stable, with room for 
fifteen cows or oxen. This stable, as the other, was twelve 
feet wide. Both stables could be entered from the central 
alleyway by a narrow passage at either end. The floor was 
made of cement, and was made highest in the centre, and a 
gutter next the underpinning conducted all the water into a 
pipe which emptied outside into a hole dug on purpose to re- 
ceive it. This hole was kept partly filled with sand or dry 
earth. The whole was well lighted by windows on the south, 
east, and west. Each stall for horses and cows had a sepa- 
rate floor made of three pieces of joist just as long as the 
stall was wide, of different thicknesses, so that, placed upon 
the slanting floor, the upper sides were level. These were 
covered with narrow strips of plank, so placed, with cracks 
between them, as to allow all liquid to fall through it to the 
floor beneath. 

This, at the front end, run under the mangers in such a way 
that it could be pushed in or pulled out to accommodate the 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 149 

length of the animal standing on it, or it could be raised or 
removed entirely'', for the purpose of cleaning the floor under- 
neath. The cows were confined by stanchions, one of which 
was stationar}' at one side of the cow's neck, and the other 
swung on a pivot at the lower end. When in place — where 
it was held by a catch — it held the cow's neck securely. 
Their mangers were raised a foot above the floor upon which 
they stood, and each manger in the cow stables hung upon 
hinges, to admit of their being easily turned over into the 
alle^'way, which uncovered a trough of water beneath. 

'By this arrangement, the next winter, the corn-fodder or 
hay was cut and steamed in the floor of the hay barn, and 
then, when mixed with grain, was taken upon a truck along 
this alleyway and carried in and fed to the cows. While 
they were eating, the steam was let into a trough of water, 
— which I will speak of hereafter, — and when they had 
eaten their feed, the water, about blood-warm, was let into 
the troughs, and the mangers turned over to allow the cows 
to drink ; thus there was no need of turning them out of doors 
in cold storms. 

Above the scaffold beams there was a tight floor, except- 
ing that it had trap-doors, by which you could go up into the 
loft above from either end of the alleyway or from the cow 
stables. This was intended principally as a loft for straw 
and corn-fodder, but could be used for hay if necessary, and 
it could be filled easily through doors which opened under the 
eaves of the barn, at four different places upon north and 
south sides. There was also a passage way from the left of 
the hay barn into the loft of this barn above the alleyways, 
by which hay could be brought to horses or cows before it 
was cut, or fodder carried the other way to be cut, if nec- 
essary. 

Doors at the east end opened from the two cow stables 
and from the central alleywaj^ into the barn-yard. In the 
loft above, upon the beams, which we used to call the great 



150 HOW WE sa\t:d the old farm. 

beams of the barn, the large beams on a level with the eaves, 
was built a tank for water. This was fourteen feet long, ten 
feet wide, and two and a half feet deep. This was filled by 
a pipe from the ram in the brook, and when full would hold 
over twenty-six hundred gallons, which Clarence said ought 
to last for use a tbarns and house at least two weeks if the 
ram should not work at all. 

From this, water could be drawn into a trough just back 
of the house, which was large enough to hold at least one drink 
for all the animals at the barn. It was in this trough the 
water was heated b}^ the steam-pipe, and then it could be let 
off into the troughs which run under the cow mangers. The 
building and filling this tank in the barn loft made it much 
better for us about drawing water from the pipes in the 
house, for before we could not get it at the house if any other 
pipe was open that discharged at a lower point, but after the 
tank w^as full it would run from all the pipes at once, if nec- 
essary, or from one of them with great force. As this tank 
was lined with zinc it was quite expensive, and the lining it 
and connecting all the pipes made it necessary to have a 
plumber there for a few da3s, but Clarence would have it as 
he wanted it or not at all. 

Passing out of the east end of the cattle barn, j-ou entered 
into a low shed, which was open to the south ; this was fort}' 
feet long and twenty feet wide, the north side being parallel 
with the north side of the cattle barn. Then another shed 
run south, one hundred feet long and twenty wide. The fifty 
feet nearest the open, or north shed, was intended for hogs. 
There was a passage way, four feet wide, along the east side, 
from which you could feed the hogs ; then the feeding-room, 
six feet wide. This had a raised floor, made from the old 
floor planks of the old barn, and here was their bed of straw, 
and around it was the railing to keep the sows from l^ing 
down upon their pigs. 

Then came the yard, nine feet wide. This shed was di- 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 151 

vided into eight pens, and into the yards the manure of the 
cattle was carried twice a day, or oftener in winter, upon a 
low truck which Clarence had bought for that purpose. This 
was some labor, but he said he could not have a barn cellar 
suitable to keep manure in, owing to the level character of 
the land, nor did he want his barn so far from the house as 
would be necessary to get a place for a barn with a cellar ; 
and he thought it would be better to have it under the shed 
and have the hogs work it over. Plent}' of earth and river- 
mud was put in tlie bottom of these 3'ards, and a supply was 
always kept in the open shed and put into the hog 3'ards fre- 
quently. As each yard had its gate, through which the 
truck could be drawn, it was not a great deal of work after 
all to put in the manure and earth, while a convenient ar- 
rangement of the fence allowed ever}' other partition to be 
taken out ver^' quickl}-, to put two yards into one for back- 
ing in with a cart, or for turning two 3'ards of hogs together. 

The other fift}' feet of shed was for sheep. This was 
closed on the east side, and partiall3' closed upon the west 
b3' a board-fence about three feet high, just under the roof. 
Excepting at the entrances there was a rack around it for 
hay, which could be taken from the loft of either barn and 
placed upon the hay-truck, and carried through the passage 
wa3- under the shed in front of the hogs directl3' to the sheep- 
shed without going out of doors. 

At the north end, next to the hogs, was a space six feet 
b3' sixteen, which was divided into pens for sheep that it 
was desired to separate from the rest, or for letting 3'oung 
lambs into when it was desired to give them extra feed to fit 
them for the butcher. These sheds were built as cheapl3- as 
possible, the posts being burnt at the bottom and set in the 
ground. In setting them some pains was taken to put them 
with the top end of the stick in the ground and butt up. 
This was done at Jake's suggestion. He said they would 
not soak up water that wa3-, and therefore would not lot so 



152 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

quickly. The sides and roofs were rough boards, with the 
cracks covered with other narrow boards or battens. Indeed, 
it was time to begin to go cheaply, for he had again outrun his 
estimate of the cost of the undertaking ; but it suited him when 
it was finished, and as money began to come in for pigs, 
chickens, lambs, butter, and fruit from the strawberry gar- 
den, besides the income from the boarders, he did not bor- 
row trouble about pacing his bills before fall. 

Earh- in June he and mother had had a long talk about the 
work which was being done, and that which he intended to 
do, and it resulted in her giving to the squire another mortgage 
upon the farm ; this came to the amount of a thousand dol- 
lars, with which money Clarence paid the most pressing bills 
which he had contracted, and then purchased another horse, 
which was made necessary by the increased age of old Char- 
ley and his slowness on the road, for there was considerable 
driving to be done to get the strawberries to market and to 
carry away the butter, which was packed in pound lumps, in 
boxes made to hold twenty-five pounds each, Avliich boxes 
were again packed in larger boxes, with ice around them. I 
had forgotten to mention that the ice-house had been well 
filled in the winter, as Clarence bought ice of a man who cut 
it on the mill-pond. It was cheaper for Clarence to get it of 
him at a dollar a load, when he was cutting for himself, than 
to hire help and cut it. 

We now found the ice a necessit}- about the butter, and a 
luxury for table use, and soon wondered how we could have 
lived so long without it. This was the feeling, indeed, in 
regard to most of the improvements which Clarence had 
made, and, for this reason, I think mother was almost as 
pleased to put this mortgage upon the farm as she had been 
before to have the other paid ; and the knowledge that it had 
been possible to paj^ the one had deprived the other of its 
terrors ; and the fact that we were making a large amount 
of butter and getting forty cents a pound for it, instead of 



HOW VTE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 153 

twenty-five, was a proof of ability to pay debts, which she 
could appreciate. She said the extra fifteen cents a pound 
would half pay the mortgage this j^ear. 

The purchase of another horse decided Clarence upon 
another extravagance which he had intended to put off until 
another season, but now he would not wait. So, before ha}'- 
ing began, a new mowing-machine and a horse-rake were 
ordered from the city, and at the last of June, the building 
having been at last completed, the haying was begun, and 
it was finished before some of our neighbors had begun to do 
theirs. And there was a large lot of the haj', all said, though 
it did not fill the ha}* barn. Uncle Thomas said he calculated 
there was not less than thirty tons on the drained field, 
six on the two-acre field, nearly three below the garden, and 
about twelve on the eight-acre field, which was the poorest 
field we had. 

Over fift}' tons of hay and a good prospect of twent}' more 
for a second crop, besides fodder on the six acres of sowea 
corn, and three of field-corn. Then there were about three ot 
four tons of ha}' on the fresh bog. Clarence did not like 
going into the bog to cut that poor grass very well aftet 
having such an eas}' time getting the good hay on the up- 
lands, and he declared that he never meant to cut grass 
there again. But when haying was finished, all hands were 
needed to attack the weeds, and for a week or two the}' were 
kept very busy at that work and the thinning the turnips. But 
Ned had done very well at the managing of the farm, and 
Clarence was only resting for a fresh start. 



154 HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAHM. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

During all this time our boarders had been with us, and we 
had lound our new comers ver}^ pleasant. The Misses Dun- 
bar were very quiet but sociable old ladies, spending their 
time in reading, fine needle-work, taking care of their birds 
(they had brought each a cage of canaries), and talking 
to them and one another. Mr. Harris bustled about, watch- 
ing the farm work and the building most of the time, and 
talking with, or rather at, any one who would listen, of the 
way in which farms were managed when he was young, and 
the various improvements in methods that had been adopted. 

As he was well informed upon the subject, having read a 
great deal upon it, and travelled considerabl}', Clarence was 
able to be ver}' much interested in his conversation, which 
just suited Mr. Harris, who could excuse almost any breach 
of good manners better than an inattentive listener. He, 
however, did not like to have any one stop work to listen, 
and would either rebuke them for doing so, or would leave 
them, sa3-ing that he had no right to hinder them from work. 
He said " he had no patience with a man who could not think 
or talk without stopping work, as if there was not steam 
enough in him to move brain and hands at the same time." 

For this reason he rather avoided Uncle Thomas, but Jake, 
Bill Giles, and the boys he would talk to (his wife said he 
lectured to them) by the hour, contented if they showed in- 
terest enough to make proper response. Nor were his talks 
confined to farming, for he was one of those men who had 
gathered up all sorts of information that came in his wa}'. 

His wife was a fitting match for him, being about as bust- 
ling, about as chatty, and quite as positive in the expi-ession 
of her opinions. It was her pleasure to superintend mother 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FAP.M. 155 

and I at our work in the milk-room, and she always was 
present at the churning and working of the butter. Even 
Nettie was somewhat in awe of her quiet remarks, although 
they had nothing of the bitterness which had marked the 
speeches of her mother when she was there. Nettie was viay 
much the same as last year, though perhaps a little quieter. 

She and Clarence were good friends, but I could see that it 
was on his part politeness toward one who lived in the same 
family with him, and that he did not feel the pleasure in her 
society which he had felt the previous summer. She ofter rode 
with him, and so might any other lady in the house, and 
welcome. She felt the difference in his manner, and she 
tried to regain her old power over him, but it was of no use. 
If she chose to be agreeable he received itpleasantly, but with 
an evident indifference. If she chose to be sulk}' and turn the 
cold shoulder to him he did not notice it. 

The others were as the}' had been before. Jessie and the 
baby had grown verj' much, and were constant companions in 
the house or out of doors. Mr. Benson and Mr. Rockwood 
came to spend the Sabbath every week, and were great friends 
with Mr. Harris. The}' supplied him with the gossip and 
business news of the city, and he kept them posted in regard 
to the doings on the farm. One Saturday evening, as we all 
sat upon the piazza, we were joined by Jake, and the conver- 
sation soon turned upon the imiDrovements which had been 
made upon the farm. 

" Tell you, cappen," said Jake, " this don't look like the 
place I brought you and the boys to, almost two years ago, 
does it now ? These chaps have changed the looks of things 
a sight since that time, and are making the old place shine, 
aint they ? " 

" They certainly have worked wonders," said Mr. Benson. 

" It scarcely seems possible tliat the farm could have paid 
all the expenses of the improvements," said Mr. Rockwood. 

" It is not so very wonderful," said Mr. Harris, " when 



156 HOW WE sa\t:d the old farm. 

you think of it all. I have been talking with them about it, 
and as they had the farm and stock and tools to start with, 
which was a capital of four or five thousand dollars, and have 
given their time and attention to it for two years and more, 
have worked busily, two of them, besides the help they had 
from the ladies in the house, and have stuck closel}' in their 
business, and put their brains into it, it is not very strange if 
they have added to its value, and, perhaps, doubled the value 
of the capital they started with." 

" That's it, sir ; " said Jake, " they have put brains into the 
business, exactly, and that is what farmers round hereby 
mostly don't put into farming. Makes me mad when I think 
of it sometimes. They would think Jake was a fool if I tried 
to shoot with onl}' a half charge of powder, because I couldn't 
afford to put in a full charge, but the}- try to get a crop with- 
out more than half a charge of manure, and then find fault 
with the land or the weather because it don't grow. Then 
they think it don't make no odds whether the powder or the 
shot goes first ; do their work hind end foremost, and hunt 
the ground for what the good Lord never meant should be 
there. I know when I go out which place is most likely for 
partridges and which for rabbits, and I load just according 
to what I expect to slioot, but the}- don't know which lot is 
best for corn and which for taters, and load just as it hap- 
pens. Then they think a poor cow is worth half as much as 
a good one, when the poor one don't pay her keeping and 
would be dear as a gift, and the good pa3-s one a good profit 
over her keeping." 

" What part of jour farming paj-s best? " asked Mr. Harris 
of Clarence, — " the cows, the pigs, the hens, the garden stuff, 
the berries, or which? " 

" I cannot tell," he answered, " for I have never tried to 
keep an account with them separatelj', but I think there is a 
profit in each, and each helps the other. I tliink my most 
profitable farm crops are mj' sowed corn and the rj-e sowed 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 157 

in the pasture, if I reckon them by the value of the hay it 
would take to replace them, or the milk we got from the cows 
while they are eating them, in proportion to the cost of pro- 
ducing them. They help feed the cows, the cows help feed the 
pigs, and both help raise the garden stuff and berries. Each 
is necessary to the other." 

" How about the hens, then?" persisted Mr. Harris. 

" I am confident that they pay a good profit," he answered, 
" and I have thought it possible that a farm might be stocked 
with poultry alone and raise only eggs and chickens, and 
make a good living in that wa}' for an}^ one who was not able 
to do heavy work, but had the patience to give them the at- 
tention the}' would need. But in order to do it, I think a man 
would need to like the business, and must love the fowl well 
enough to know every hen by sight as well as I know my 
cows apart. You know several of them look alike to you , but I 
can tell them apart as far as I can see them. Just so a man 
ought to know his hens, if he has got to watch them and 
see if any are sick or are not laying eggs, or don't pay for 
keeping. A man will not notice such thhigs as that if he can't 
tell his hens apart, and I reckon that there is as much difference 
in hens about paying their keeping as there is about cows." 

" Will this year finish up 3'our improvements upon the farm, 
Clarence? " asked Mr Benson. 

"Not by a great deal, sir," he said; "I can see much 
more than I expect to be able to do for several years ; but I 
shall try to finish the work I have begun, and one other that 
I see before me." 

" What is that?" he asked. 

" I mean to put that bog meadow or a part of it into cran- 
berries this fall, if I can. It will be quite an expensive un- 
dertaking, but once done it will pay a large profit, I hope. I 
have been reading a great deal about it lately." 

"I expect cranberries does pay amazingly," said Jake, 
" after you get them growing good, but I haven't an idea 



158 now WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 

of what must be done to get ready to raise them. But I still 
stick to it that it's wonderful how you have got ahead and 
fixed up tlie old place, and I don't believe many boys would 
have done it." 

" It ma}^ be wonderful that they have taken such a 
course," said Mr. Harris ; " but the greatest wonder to me is 
that more farmers do not do as well who have as much to 
start with as thej' had ; but the}' are afraid to put their money 
back on the land where they take it from. If the}^ get a dol- 
lar off the farm the}' put it somewhere else, and then b}- and 
b}' the farm does not pay and they have to use it up again. 
Men in business trj' to enlarge their business facilities, look- 
ing for larger profits either from cheaper management or in- 
creased trade ; but farmers do not avail themselves of the fa- 
cilities they have, and keep capital idle or worse than idle in 
unproductive land and unprofitable animals." 

This conversation took place in July. In August it was 
very dry, and Clarence was obliged to hire pasture of Uncle 
Thomas for the sheep and calves, of which he had raised 
eight more this ^-ear. Then, he bought two yoke of oxen, and 
borrowed carts, and having shut off the pipe which led from 
the ram to the tank in the barn, he cautioned us not to use 
water wastefully, for he was intending to open a hole in his 
miniature dam for the purpose of drying off the bog meadow 
as much as possible before beginning his task of converting it 
into cranberry' meadow. 

Then, a gang of men were put at work under Mike's super- 
intendence at taking off the turf of the meadow, while the 
horse teams and the three ox teams were put to drawing sand 
upon ground which was then left bare. Before they had filled 
it fiir out it was necessary to build a track or bridge of plank 
for the teams to drive over, but the work still went on. There 
were ten men at work upon the meadow and four in the sand 
bank, besides Clarence, Ned, and Mike, the two former being 
drivers of the teams. 



HOW WE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 159 

The turf •when taken off was piled up upon the sand with 
the under side uppermost to dry, and after a few daj-s the 
teams were loaded to draw out the turf after the load of sand 
was tipped out ; it took nearly three weeks to finish the whole 
meadow although all hands worked lively. When the sand 
was all applied, several barrels containing vines which had 
been previousl}' ordered from a cranberr}^ grower upon Cape 
Cod were taken down there and all hands were put at work 
setting the vines. This was done b^' punching holes, about a 
foot apart, in rows, the rows being about the same distance, or 
a little further apart, and into these holes little bunches of 
vines were jammed down with the stick and the sand pressed 
over them with the foot, just leaving a few inches of the vines 
in sight. 

When it was all set the dam was built a little higher than 
before and a waste gate put in it so that it was possible 
to cover the meadow with two feet of water, or to draw the 
water off so as to leave it dry, if necessar}'. After this was 
finished the second crop of grass was cut. The pasture, or 
such of it as had not been ploughed and sow-n in rye during 
the previous years, was now ploughed and the rye was sown 
with grass-seed, thus providing ample pasture for the next 
year, and then the harvesting was begun. 

As soon as the potatoes were dug in the orchard, the ground 
was manured and ploughed, and the whole of it was set in 
strawberry plants, which were taken in abundance from the 
old garden. All this made a tine strawberry garden. Then 
corn, turnips, and other vegetables were harvested, and by 
Thanksgiving time, our boarders having flown back to their 
city homes, after engaging their places for another year, we 
were prepared again for our annual statement of our financial 
affairs. 

Before this time, however, the three 3-oke of oxen and two 
of our oldest cows had been fattened and disposed of, the two 
3'okes that Clarence bought for the work upon the bog having 



160 HOW \VE SAVED THE OLD FAEM. 

sold for more than they cost ; Clarence said for more than first 
cost and cost of all they ate, so that he had their work for 
nothing and a profit added, a new and lighter yoke of oxen 
being bought. He thus tried to make the growth and gain of 
flesh pay the keeping and get the work and manure as clear 
profit. But you are waiting for that annual statement, which 
I am now ready to present : — 

Cash on hand last Thanksgiving $781 82 

Received for exchange of oxen 40 00 

Pork sold 3G 50 

Lambs and fat sheep 182 00 

Wool 72 40 

Chickens and old fowl 785 80 

Eggs 3G2 15 

Pigs 415 50 

Strawberries and other small fruit 364 30 

Garden vegetables 81 10 

Cabbages 207 25 

Turnips 312 70 

Potatoes 123 50 

Butter 1, 154 00 

Beef sold from two cows 42 50 

Pork sold 27 80 

Difference between oxen bought and sold 88 50 

2G weeks' board at $69 1,794 00 



Expended for wood-house, milk-room, ice-house, 

steam and milk apparatus $681 80 

Ice 15 00 

3 cows 160 00 

40 sheep 200 00 

Orchard, besides labor of those on the place. . . . 387 50 

Phosphate and ashes in spring 185 00 

Barn and sheds 715 80 

Repairs of house 368 15 

Horse 150 00 

Tools, harnesses, strawberry boxes, etc 318 20 

Amount carried forward, $3,181 45 



5,871 82 



HOW WE SAVED THE' OLD FARM. 161 

Amount hrought forward, $3,181 45 

Mike's labor 454 50 

Uncle Thomas' labor 256 25 

Other labor not included in other accounts 61 65 

Labor and vines on cranberry meadow 328 75 

Grain, scraps, etc 663 30 

Blacksmith's bill 47 20 

Taxes 72 85 

Groceries 835 10 

Meat, fish, etQ 342 GO 

Other expenses 84 20 

Interest on mortgage, 4 months 20 00 

Insurance on buildings, stock, tools, and furni- 
ture 36 50 

$6,384 35 

Amount of money on hand 487 47 



3,871 82 



In addition to this the improvement in land, including 
drained fields, feed in pastures, strawberry beds, orchard 

and cranberry meadow, is not less than $800 00 

Improvement of house and porch, milk-room and ice-house, 

about 800 00 

Improvement of barns and sheds 1,400 00 

Improvement of hen-house 150 00 

12 cows, 8 heifers, 8 calves, instead of 4 cows 700 00 

Hay, fodder, and manure more than 3 years ago 800 00 

10 breeding sows loO 00 

Poultry — 160 hens, instead of 40 90 00 

65 sheep 260 00 

One horse 150 00 

Harnesses, tools, strawberry boxes, etc 300 00 

Making the whole value above what it was when father 

died $5,600 00 

Adding mortgage paid 500 00 

Adding cash on hand more than then, about 400 00 

Profit of three seasons' work $6,500 00 



162 HOW ^VE SA\T3D TIIE OLD FARM. 

When Clarence had read this no one spoke for a few 
moments, but at last Ned said, nervously', — 

" Do you think we could have done better if you had taken 
Uncle Robert's advice and gone to Blackington?" 

" I think we would not have done as well, m}' son, but I 
can scarcely' realize that we ha.ve done as well as this." 

" But it is none the less true, mother," said Clarence ; " and 
even this does not tell the whole storj', for now the farm is in 
condition to pay a profit for 3-cars to come wifhout the expen- 
diture of much money for permanent improvements ; but I 
intend as fast as possible to improve the pasture and add it 
to the mowing, until I can keep my cows in the barn all the 
time. Next ^ear I expect good crops of strawberries and 
other small fruit in the orchard, and in three 3'ears or so, I 
ought to have peaches and plums there, and a few pears and 
cherries, it ma^- be, and by the same time I ought to get a 
crop of cranberries. That will count up, if I can get a 
thousand or twelve hundred bushels of berries there at three 
dollars a bushel or more ; three hundred bushels is not an 
extraordinar}' yield, and if others can get it, I can. And 
next year we shall have twenty cows, 3'oung and old, and I 
think 1 can get even a better price for butter than I have this 
year." 

When we began to manage the fann the question was, 
" Could we save the old farm " and get our living on it? I 
think we have saved it and made a new farm of it. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

And now, kind reader, m}' simple tale is told. I know it 
is lacking in startling incident and hair-breadth escapes, but 
thus often runs the life of man}' people for longer periods of 
time than mv story eml)races. There is no intricate plot, 



HOW VTE SAVED THE OLD FARM. 163 

and it may be yon will fail to find a moral, while love, relig- 
ion, and politics, which fill the pages of so many tales of 
the day, have but a small place in this. I tell it as it was 
told to me, by one whose part in its actions was more prom- 
inent than I have been allowed to exhibit, or than her story 
has revealed, for ray stor^' in its main incidents is true. If 
you fail to find the localities named here upon the map of 
New England, it is not because they are not there, but 
because the names are not spelled as I have spelled them. 
If 30U have not known the kind squire and his wife, and 
honest Jake Wood, and Uncle Tom Hard}', and Bill Giles, 
and the other people I have introduced to 3'ou, the loss is 
yours. Should 3'ou desire to know any of them better, it is 
possible that I may show another page in their lives at some 
future da}', and although some of them have passed on to a 
higher and brighter life, others 3'et live, and have passed 
through more eventful scenes. 

And now, kind reader, let me urge 3'ou to take some Old 
Farm and make of it a New Farm. 

In so doing 30U will do yourself and the communit}' you 
live in a real service. 



THE END. 



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HOW 




M tie Oil I 




A.N1D 




IT 




1 





I. 



A YOUNG FARMER^' 



Corner Bromfleld and Washington streets, 

BOSTON. 
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loving husband and increasing family. 



COMFORT FOR SMALL INCOMES. 

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Reverses of fortune threw a young man upon his own resources. 

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A NEW GREENHOUSE WAS BUILT. 

Onions and Verbenas proved the most profitable. The fifth year's 
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The detailed work of each year is fully given, with the results that 
came from it. ^ 






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